


Let It Burn

by Isabella2004



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, Police, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabella2004/pseuds/Isabella2004
Summary: He's her boss but, sometimes, there's something underneath.
Relationships: Frank Burnside/OC
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

**16** **th** **December 1990**

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes."

She stared out of the windscreen, hoping that he wouldn't ask anything further. It was the morning after the night before and the atmosphere in the CID office when she'd walked in had been testament to the fact they had clearly all been talking about her and Stewart and what had happened. Before she could say anything, confront anyone, Frank had told her he wanted her to come with him to see a snout so they had ended up sitting in his car, waiting on the Maycroft estate and she could tell he was angry.

"What happened when you got home?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it bloody well matters!" he exclaimed. "He assaulted you in that pub and if you hadn't stopped me, I'd have landed one on him for it!"

"Why do you think I stopped you?" she asked, glancing at him. "How would it have helped anything?"

"Did he hit you?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"You don't deserve to be treated like that. No woman does. You deserve to be with someone who loves you..."

"He does love me," she protested weakly.

"Well he's got a funny way of showing it!" He snapped. "Can't you see what he's doing to you? What he's been doing to you all this time? What happened to him was _not_ your fault and you shouldn't have to pay for it for the rest of your life by putting up with him hurting you like that."

"Frank, please..."

"You deserve better."

"Stop..."

"Well what do you want me to say? You must know how I feel about you."

Silence descended over the car, the only noise coming from the rain outside as it battered against the window. She found that she didn't dare look at him, didn't want to see the expression on his face or let him see the expression on hers. He had finally been the one to say it, the first one to give voice to the feelings that she had known were there but had been too afraid to confront. The long lingering looks, the crackle in the air, the way she had felt her heart beat faster and her temperature rise whenever she was near him...

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I shouldn't have said that..."

"No," she interrupted, turning to look at him for the first time. "No, it's ok. I felt...I feel...I just didn't know..." she cursed herself for not being able to speak coherently, but what were you supposed to say? When your friend, your boss, the man you had to ashamedly admit you'd fantasised about when suffering the indignity of sex with your husband was telling you he had feelings for you, what were you supposed to say? Before she could say anything more, Frank reached out and touched her chin gently and she felt her breathing grow shallow and her body start to tremble. Part of her wanted to pull away and another part of her wanted to pull him close, to feel him against her, to experience what it was liked to be touched by someone you actually wanted and who wanted you. But she couldn't ignore the blindingly obvious and it almost felt as though her wedding ring was burning into the flesh on her finger. "I...I can't..." she heard herself whisper.

Frank drew his hand back and turned to look back out of the window, jaw clenched. "I want you," he said after a long moment. "I'm not going to lie about it, and neither should you."

"You mean you want to take me to bed."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked, turning to looking at her again.

"Nothing."

"I bet I could satisfy you a damn sight more there than he can." She felt herself shiver at the illicitness of his words. "Anyway...it's not just that."

"No?"

"No. I know what you think about me..."

"I don't think anything..."

"But I _am_ capable of having feelings, you know. I _am_ capable of caring for another person other than myself. I care about you."

She swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in her throat. "I care about you too." She met his gaze again and there was another long silence, heavy with words unsaid and actions uncompleted. "I...I think about you."

"When?" he asked, his voice soft, barely audible above the pounding rain.

"All the time," she admitted in barely a whisper.

This time when he reached out, she met him halfway. It felt normal, natural, in a way that had been missing in her marriage for so long. When he kissed her, she responded. When his fingers found their way into her hair, she gently cupped his face with her hand. Every nerve in her body jangled, her nipples hardened, her sweet spot contracted...the sexual desire was real. God, it had been so long...She felt herself growing in confidence, taking the lead, sliding her hand down over his belt to the juncture of his thighs and feeling him there, hard and insistent, clearly wanting her in the same way she knew she wanted him.

"We can't do this here..." Frank breathed, pulling back from her.

Reality smacked her in the face and she put her hand to her mouth, lips still burning from where they had been connected. "We can't do this anywhere," she said. "We can't...I can't...God what a mess!" Putting her head in her hands she willed away the tears that were threatening to come. It was all so unjust, unfair...what had she done to deserve the life she had been living? How could it possibly continue, especially now...?

She felt his hand on her shoulder, "Chris..."

"No..." pushing him away, she opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. It was cold on her skin, but it also felt good, as though she could breathe.

"Get back in the car!" Frank came up behind her. "Come on, we'll freeze to death out here!"

"I can't..." she shook her head.

"I won't touch you," he promised. "I'm sorry. I won't touch you."

"Don't you understand?" she swung around to face him. "I _want_ you to touch me! I've thought about nothing else for weeks, months...I don't know how long! But you're my boss and I'm married and..." she broke off and took a deep breath, knowing she had to regain control before everything was lost. "What about your snout?"

Frank looked puzzled, "What?"

"What about your snout? The one we were supposed to meet here. Is he coming or not?"

"There never was any meeting with any snout," he said. "It was a reason to get you on your own."

She stared at him, "Why?"

"Why do you think? To make sure you were all right after last night! To find out if he had done anything to you! To get you away from the whispers going round the nick!"

Anger flared inside her, "I don't need you to protect me!"

"I know..."

"What do you think you can do? Make it better for me? You can't make it better, Frank! This is my life and my marriage! He's my husband for better or worse!" Pushing past him, she wrenched open the car door and slid back into the passenger seat, slamming it behind her. Seconds later, he followed suit. Silence descended once again, the only sound being their collective breathing and finally the hum of the engine. The wipers swished the rain from side to side and the windows misted up around them, appropriate given what had been about to happen mere moments earlier. "We should get back," she said finally, her voice level again. "I don't know about you but I've got a shit load of work to get through and sitting here waiting for a non-existent snout isn't going to get it done any faster." For a moment, nothing happened. No-one spoke, the car didn't move, the rain kept falling. Finally, she looked over at him again. "Please."

He held her gaze for a long moment before finally putting the car in gear and heading back in the direction of the station.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART ONE**

**28** **th** **July 1988**

She felt stifled in her dress.

It was one of the hottest days of the year so far and whoever had organised the event had not considered the comfort and well being of the attendees. All the windows were closed, there were no fans and the only relief that could be found was waving the paper programmes in front of one's face hoping that it would create a modicum of breeze. She could feel a rivulet of sweat slowly making its way down her back and wished, not for the first time, that she had worn the blue dress instead of the green.

"It's too short," Stewart had said when she had tried the blue on that morning and paraded in front of him.

"It's just on the knee," she had protested.

"Wear the green one," he had ordered, ignoring her protestations about how the green one had sleeves and would probably cause her to melt whilst the blue one would at least allow her to be able to watch the ceremony in comfort. She knew she should have argued the toss with him or, in fact, simply told him that she was wearing the blue one and bugger whether it was too short. But she hadn't. She had acquiesced, worn the green one and accepted his compliment about how beautiful she looked with a gracious smile.

As the ceremony dragged on, name after name was read out and the outburst of applause grew shorter and shorter, she found her mind wandering back to Sun Hill. The clock on the wall behind the stage told her it was almost two o'clock and, if the information had been correct, the building society job would be about to go off. She could imagine them all, sat in their cars, watching and waiting and although she knew she was where she was meant to be, it was difficult to not wish she was with them.

"A day off?" Frank had demanded when she had told him she would miss the blag. "Who said you could have a day off?"

"Mr Conway," she had replied.

"I see...went over my head, did you?"

"No," she had sighed, really unwilling to get involved in yet another fight with him. "He approached me. He heard about Stewart's commendation and asked me if wanted the time off to attend."

"Oh I see," he'd said, looking her up and down, "quite the dutiful little wife, aren't we?"

"For bravery in the line of duty, Detective Sergeant Stewart Church."

The sound of her husband's name brought Christina Lewis back to reality and she smiled and clapped enthusiastically as he crossed the stage to receive his commendation. As he posed for the formal photograph with the commissioner, his gaze sought her out and he raised his eyebrows in a show of solidarity that made her forget the dispute over the dress and remember all the things she loved about him. Eight years since their wedding, twelve years since they had first declared themselves to each other and she knew that, deep down, she loved him as much now as she had then.

Ten more names, ten more bursts of applause and, finally, the ceremony was over. Now for the schmoozing, the part she had been looking forward to even less. She hated making small talk with superior officers, not to mention she was expected to play the proud wife on every occasion and, more often than not, keep to herself that she too was a serving CID officer. Even in the progressive nineteen eighties it was still seen as surprising.

"Second commendation in a year, eh?" Turning, she found herself face to face with Harry Grimm, one of Stewart's colleagues. "He's putting us all to shame you know."

"I'm sure it's just been a case of right place, right time," she replied, unsure really as to why she was trying to make him feel better. Harry wasn't someone she had really taken to since Stewart had joined the Drugs Squad. Unmarried, and with a slightly squinty left eye, she didn't mind admitting that he made her uneasy. When she had told Stewart this one evening, however, he had told her she was being ridiculous.

"Yes well, Stewart does have a knack of making things work out for himself." Harry lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress and passed one to her. "Must be hard for you, constantly living in his shadow."

"Yes," she replied, downing half the glass in one go and suddenly remembering another reason why she didn't like him. "It's absolutely terrible."

XXXX

He was pissed off.

The job hadn't gone exactly as it was meant to, at least not according to the so-called reliable information they had received three days earlier. Instead of three blaggers there had been five, instead of it all kicking off at two o'clock it was fully a quarter to three before anyone showed up. Not to mention there was a second car waiting in the alleyway behind the building society that had allowed three of the suspects to escape. Now all he was left with was Peter Milton, seventeen if he was a day and clearly in way over his head, and Tommy Fulton, who knew the score and would enjoy every syllable of 'no comment.'

It was not the result Frank Burnside had been hoping for.

Three weeks he had been at Sun Hill and this was supposed to have been his first big collar since taking over as DI. Something to impress those upstairs and now it looked as though he might just end up with egg on his face. He knew whose fault it was and there was no way he was going to let it pass without cracking a few heads.

"Ted, get in here!" he bellowed, not even bothering to leave his desk or open the door. Given his desk was wedged practically right under his nose, he knew the Irishman wouldn't be able to pretend not to hear him. Wearing a look of sheepishness mixed with arrogance, a look it seemed only Ted could pull off, he opened the office door. "Have you gotten hold of your scroat of a snout yet?"

"No," Ted replied, "I'm guessing he's trying to avoid me."

"Well at least he's got some sense. What the hell was he playing at giving you that duff information?"

"It wasn't entirely duff."

"Oh yeah? You enjoy wasting your time on one of the hottest days of the year sitting in a Fiesta do you?"

"At least the job went off. It wasn't as if we were sat there for nothing," Ted protested.

"We might as well have been," Frank said. "A seventeen year old kid and Tommy Fulton does not a result make!"

"The kid might talk, given the right persuasion."

"He'll be too scared of Fulton to open his mouth and Fulton's not going to say anything, is he? He'll have that slimy brief doing the talking for him. Not to mention we've got no idea who else was in on the job or where they even are! Your snout should have known about the second car."

"Well when I finally catch up with him, I'll make sure he's aware of that fact," Ted replied impatiently. "What do you want me to do? I can't magic him out of thin air."

Frank sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. "Derek Conway is going to be all over me for this. I promised him a cast iron result."

"You should know better than that."

"Watch your tone," Frank said sharply. "A few more bodies might have been helpful if uniform had been prepared to put themselves out a bit. Not to mention, if _madam_ hadn't been away hobnobbing with the great and good."

Ted smiled, "Oh I'm pretty sure if you asked her she would say she would rather have been here."

"Doesn't enjoy being part of the limelight?" he asked acerbically.

"Well that's just it, isn't it? It's not her limelight." Ted turned back to the door. "I'll get Jim to check whether or not Fulton's brief's arrived. The kid said he didn't want one, so do you want to start with him?"

Frank threw his pen down onto the desk. "Why not? Nothing better to do."

XXXX

"What's your new boss like?" Harry asked, lifting another glass of champagne, his fourth at least, and shrugging when she indicated she didn't want another one. "I hear he's a bit of a bastard."

"He takes a bit of getting used to," Christina replied diplomatically, glancing around to try and locate Stewart.

"Likes the ladies too," Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Well I doubt I fall into that category." Indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. To say that she and Frank didn't get on was an understatement. Everything she did seemed to rub him up the wrong way and everything he said made her want to punch him in the face. Something in the way that he looked at her, and not with admiration, was seriously making her reconsider whether Sun Hill was still the place for her.

"You're not bad looking."

"I'm also married, Harry," she said, a shudder going through her and was grateful to see Stewart walking towards them.

"I don't think that matters to Frank Burnside."

Curiosity slightly piqued, she was about to ask him what he meant when Stewart's arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her into him for a kiss, an action she would have welcomed had it not been for the fact he was sweating profusely under his suit and his breath held the acrid taste of beer. "Hope you've been looking after my wife, Harry."

"Of course."

"Fancy a few jars down the pub?"

Harry's face lit up, "Do you really have to ask?"

Stewart turned to her, looking at her with the familiar expression he always wore when he was going to ask her permission for something he had already decided to do regardless. "You don't mind if me and the lads go for a few to celebrate, do you?"

"No, of course not," she replied, somewhat relieved at the prospect of escape. "I might just pop back to the nick and find out how the building society job went."

"I thought you had the whole day off?"

"I do, but it might win me some brownie points with Burnside if I show my face and you know how much I'm in need of those."

"Fine," Stewart said tightly, quickly removing his arm. Christina knew she had touched a raw nerve but rather than feel apologetic, she found herself merely irritated. It had been six years since she transferred from uniform and still he would prefer her to be pounding the beat in a hat clutching a handbag. It clearly wasn't enough that he outranked her and that he had a coveted spot in the squad. "Would you rather I simply went home and waited for you?"

"Well I can't deny that the thought of you naked and turned on in our bed waiting for me gives me a bit of thrill," Stewart replied, ignoring the curtness of her tone and speaking loudly enough to raise Harry's eyebrows again. "But if you feel you have to go and kowtow to Frank Burnside, you do that." Without waiting for a further response, he gestured to someone standing behind her and, with a quick kiss to her cheek, he was gone.

"Fine," she said to no-one. "That's just...fine."

XXXX

The boy was nervous, but he was doing a fairly good job of hiding it. Despite being asked again, he had refused the services of a lawyer and seemed happy to go into interview completely unprotected. This unnerved Frank slightly, but as Ted pushed the tapes into the machine and it beeped into life, he decided simply to plough on.

"Taped interview with Peter Milton on Friday 23rd July 1988. Officers present are Detective Inspector Burnside and Detective Sergeant Roach." He sat forward. "Can you state your full name for the tape please Peter?"

"Peter John Milton."

"And your date of birth?"

"16th March 1971."

"So you've not long turned seventeen Peter, is that right?" Peter nodded. "Now you've been cautioned already Peter, but I'll just remind you that you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so but anything you do say may be given in evidence, do you understand?" Peter nodded again. "Good. Now you're quite sure you don't want a solicitor?"

"I don't want one," Peter said hurriedly.

"That's fine," Frank said. "So, what can you tell us about the robbery at the Canley Building Society earlier today?"

Peter looked away. "Nothing."

"Well we caught you there," Ted said. "Coming out, wearing a balaclava and carrying a baseball bat."

"So?"

"So, I'm not one for being in the building society often, but I'm pretty sure those aren't what one usually wears." Peter said nothing. "What were you doing there?"

"Do you know Tommy Fulton?" Frank asked, and Peter started slightly in his chair. "I'll take it by your reaction that you do. You know we caught him at the building society too? Wearing a balaclava like you, only he had a shotgun instead of a baseball bat."

"So what?"

"So, maybe you're not as involved in this as the others," Frank said. "You only had a baseball bat. Maybe you were just supposed to stand by the door and look threatening. Maybe that's why you didn't have a shotgun. I mean, it sounds plausible, doesn't it?"

"Does to me," Ted said. "What do you think, Peter?" The boy shrugged. "What about the others that got away?"

"What others?"

"There were three other men involved in the robbery," Ted said, "but they managed to escape. If you were prepared to give us their names..."

"Why would I do that?" Peter asked, clearly mustering up as much bravado as he could.

"Might help when it comes to sentencing," Frank said. "The judge would be pleased to hear that you'd been helpful." Peter muttered something under his breath. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't quite catch that."

Peter sat forwards in his chair, "I said, get stuffed."

XXXX

"Well that went very well," Frank said as Bob Cryer locked Peter Milton back in his cell. "So much for helpful cooperation. Speaking of which..."

"I'll try calling him again," Ted said. "Failing that, I'll take a trip to his gaff. What do you want to do about Fulton? His brief's in the front office."

Frank checked his watch, "Hours left on the PACE deadline yet. Let's leave him to stew a bit longer." A door banged behind him and, turning, he saw Christina coming down the corridor towards them. "Well, look who it is. Is it tomorrow yet?" he asked, glancing at his watch, "only I thought I had a bit longer before I had to see you again."

"Very funny," she said. "Stewart and his mates were all heading down the pub so I thought I'd come and see how things went this afternoon."

"Dressed like that?"

"Well I wasn't going to go home and change. So...how did it go?"

Frank shook his head, "You fill her in, Ted. I'm not sure I can bear it."

"That bad?" Christina asked as he took the stairs two at a time away from them. "I thought your information was solid?"

"So did I," Ted replied. "Only it turns out that there were more people involved than we were led to believe and three of them got away."

"Oh dear."

"To say he's pissed off is putting it mildly. Anyway," he looked at her. "Good day was it?"

"Oh, yes it was lovely," she lied. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I doubt it. Keep your head down or go home. I know which one I would recommend."

He disappeared into the toilets so Christina climbed the stairs to CID. She should, probably, have just turned around and gone home as per Ted's suggestion, especially since she was technically on annual leave. But when she had run out the door the previous night, her in-tray had been overflowing so she knew it wouldn't hurt to take a quick look.

It was a mistake. The office was empty save for Frank who was standing at her desk going through her tray. It wasn't the first time she had seen him do it and she knew why.

"Lot of work to be done," he said, as she was turning to head back down the stairs. "Problem with prioritising?"

"No Guv," she replied. "I've just been really busy, that's all. I was in court two days last week and..."

"And out socialising today," he finished for her.

"It was hardly..." she broke off. Her thoughts about the day were none of his business. "I didn't really have much choice about today."

"No?" he turned to look at her. "Well I suppose he would have taken the day off too if it had been you receiving the commendation. There's statements in here that go back to the Melton Street assault."

"I know..."

"They should have been with CPS two weeks ago."

"I _know_..."

"Something tells me, that you've not been pulling your weight, Constable. Something tells me that you've been coasting along, quite content with your lot. Something tells me, that Roy Galloway let you get away with far more than he should have."

"That's not fair," Christina argued. "Not to mention it's not true."

"But then I suppose, being the only woman in CID must be difficult. People always thinking you should be in uniform, back on the beat. Always thinking you're never going to be as good as the boys..."

"I _am_ as good as the boys and I have _always_ pulled my weight!"

"Well right now, it's not good enough!" Frank stepped closer to her. "When Derek Conway offered me this job and I asked about who would be working under me, he told me that you were an asset to the team. Sometimes I wonder. For the record, I am _not_ Roy Galloway, so whatever favours you got from him, you won't get from me. You do your job or you piss off." He looked her up and down in that way that made her want to scream. "Maybe you'd be better off back in uniform. Or maybe your talents lie elsewhere. Like being at home and pushing out a few kids."

"And everyone told me that you were a womanising, patronising, conniving bastard but I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt!" she snapped before she could stop herself. "Sometimes _I_ wonder! Maybe if I flattered your ego and flirted with you a bit more you might get off my back!"

"Don't flatter yourself darling. I don't need the Drugs Squad's cast offs." He stepped back. "I want those statements with CPS before you leave tonight, annual leave or no annual leave. Can you manage that?" Indignation choked her, preventing her from doing anything beyond nodding. "Good. And we'll just put this little outburst down to PMT, shall we?"

"Bastard," she muttered as he retreated to his office and closed the door. "Utter sodding bastard."


	3. Chapter 3

**14** **th** **August 1988**

"You know something Chris? I'm really sick of listening to you moaning about that man. Anyone would think there were three of us in this marriage the way you go on about him."

Christina paused, toast halfway to mouth. "I don't _go on about him_."

"You do and, believe me, it gets a bit wearing after a while." Stewart looked up from where he was hunting around in a drawer and raised his eyebrows. "Burnside this, Burnside that. This is what he said to me today, isn't it ridiculous..." he shook his head. "We all have crap bosses, but you just need to get on with it."

"Well thanks very much for the support. I suppose you think it's fine the way he speaks to me, not to mention the way he treats me, which, by the way, he wouldn't do if I was male." She shook her head vigorously. "Honestly, sometimes I just wish..."

"There you go again," he interrupted her. "It's not even 9am and you're on about him. Look, I have to go or I'm going to be late. I'm not sure what time I'll be home tonight."

"So what else is new?" she grumbled. "And you're the one who keeps banging on about trying for another baby. You're never bloody here!"

He bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "I'll try and not be too late. Maybe we could have a go when I get in."

"How romantic," she said to his retreating form. The front door slammed and he was gone. As she sat in the silence, she thought back to the conversation they had had at the weekend about trying for a family. Stewart had thought it was a great idea, though deep down she suspected he was looking for a way, any way, to get her out of CID. There was no real reason why they shouldn't try, and after all, she had become pregnant by accident once already, but the Sergeant exam was coming up in January and she had been thinking of applying. Maybe promotion could get her away from Frank.

The very thought of him made her mood darken even more but, checking the clock, she realised she would be late if she sat around any longer and once in the car with the radio blasting she started to feel slightly better. The heat of July had cooled but it was still very pleasant outside and the sun was shining, enough to put anyone in a good mood.

It didn't last. Two minutes after setting foot inside the station, he had been on her like a limpet. "What time do you call this?" he demanded, looking at his watch as she came into the office. "Working on Christina time are we?"

"I'm not late," she replied, slinging her jacket onto the rack and putting her bag down on her desk. "In fact, I'm actually three minutes early."

"Bully for you," Frank said. "Don't sit down, we've got work to do."

"I've got plenty to be doing sitting down, actually," she replied, gesturing to her an in-tray that never seemed to get empty.

"Yeah well we need to go and see one of my snouts."

Christina frowned, "We?"

"Yes _we_." He tossed his car keys in the air. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, but you usually like to take these meetings on your own, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I could do with some feminine charm," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, "and Alfie's going to love you."

"Alfie Dobbs?" Jim Carver queried from his desk. "What's he been up to?"

"It's what he can tell us that I'm more interested in," Frank replied. "That's what being a snout is all about."

"Well can't I go with you Guv?" Jim asked. "I could do with some fresh air after looking at these post mortem pictures. You've no idea how depressing it is to..."

"No you can't," Frank interrupted. "You need to finish that report before I have some baboon from CPS giving me grief about it. Madam here can come with me. Like I said, I need some feminine charm and you're sorely lacking in that area."

"You could always ask Fraser if you could take June or Viv," Christina said, in a last ditch attempt to avoid being alone with him. "I've really got a lot to be getting on with and if I don't..."

"I am _not_ taking June or Viv," Frank said. "Now will you just get your jacket so we can get on with it? I don't have all day to stand around here arguing with a hormonal female."

Before she could reply, he had left the room and she was forced to grab her bag and jacket and follow him, at speed, down the stairs, along the corridor and out into the car park. "What's the rush?" she demanded as he opened the car door.

"I thought you said you had lots of work to do?"

"I do."

"Then the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get back and you can get on with it," he reasoned, "so get in."

Christina did as she was bidden and for the first five minutes of the journey she was spared having to make conversation with him as he argued with Tom Penny over the radio about a suspect brought in the previous night and whether or not anyone from CID was remotely interested in dealing with him. As she watched the scenery go by out of the window, she wondered what Stewart was doing. No doubt _his_ boss hadn't demanded he accompany him to see a snout, or referred to him as hormonal.

"So," Frank said once the issue was sorted to his satisfaction. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Erm...no, not at the moment," she replied, slightly bemused by the question. "I think Stewart might be working."

"Oh I see."

"What?"

"Well I had you down as the type of couple that might enjoy a nice meal out on a Saturday night or a drink in a posh wine bar with friends, that sort of thing."

"What do you think we are, yuppies?" He didn't say anything. "Stewart prefers the local boozer actually."

"What about you?"

She shrugged, "I don't mind."

"Do you always go where he wants to go?"

"No," she replied, slightly offended by the insinuation he was making. "Anyway, what are _your_ plans for the weekend, or am I not allowed to ask?"

"Don't you worry about me," he replied cryptically. "I'm never lonely."

"No, I would imagine you wouldn't be. If it moves..." Frank glanced at her but said nothing. "Anyway, what are we going to see this Alfie Dobbs bloke about that needs my _feminine charm_?"

"He rang this morning and told me he's got some information about a drugs shipment." 

"Sounds mysterious. What else did he say?"

"Well he obviously wasn't going to give me the whole story without seeing the colour of my money, was he?" Frank said.

"But you trust him enough to make the call."

"He's been a good snout to me over the years. Always keeping his eyes and ears open. Knows which side he's bread's buttered, that sort of thing." He glanced at her. "About time you got yourself one or two if you plan on hanging around in CID."

Her hackles rose again, "Why wouldn't I be hanging around?"

"Well you're not getting any younger. Like I said to you before, maybe it's time you were pushing out a few kids." Frank pulled the car to a halt at the edge of the park and switched off the engine. "I mean, what are you? Twenty-six?"

"Twenty-eight," she replied, "not that that's..."

"Well it's worse than I thought. Better get a move on." Without a trace of embarrassment, he got out of the car forcing her to follow suit if she wanted to say anything else. "He said he'd be waiting under the bridge. Nothing if not clandestine is Alfie."

"What makes you think I even want kids?" Christina demanded, falling into step beside him, "Or that I can even have them for that matter?"

"Well, can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Have kids."

"Well I...I mean I managed to get pregnant once before but..." she broke off quickly, not knowing why she had said so much or why she was even having this conversation with him.

"But?"

"Do you know something, this is absolutely _none_ of your business!" she found her indignation. "You wouldn't be having this sort of conversation with Ted or Jim now, would you?"

"Christ no, can you imagine thinking about little Carvers and Roaches?"

"So what makes you think it's appropriate to be having it with me?"

Frank stopped and turned to face her. "I was just making conversation DC Lewis. No need to get your fine expensive French knickers in a twist."

"You know something, _sir,_ the way you speak to me is..."

"Is what? Disrespectful to you as a woman? Get over it darling. You'll need to if you want to make it in this job and something tells me you've heard far worse."

As he walked away from her towards the bridge in question, Christina had to stop herself from thinking how easy it would be just to push him off it. _Oh he slipped,_ she would tell the others, her tone full of shock and sadness, _there was nothing I could do..._

"You coming or not?" he called back to her.

"Yes sir," she muttered under her breath, "coming sir."

XXXX

"He said what?" Jim spluttered over his sandwich in the canteen. "What did you say?"

"There wasn't much I could say," Christina replied. "But, do you know, I finally realised that I've been going about this all the wrong way."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, letting him get to me all the time. Clearly he's hoping I'll get so sick of his attitude that I'll quit or something and then he won't have to worry about having a _hormonal female_ in CID."

"Would you?"

"And give him the satisfaction, don't be daft." She drained her coffee. "I was thinking about taking the Sergeant's exam in January though and then, if I get it, I'd be transferred."

"You can't leave Sun Hill," Jim said. "More importantly, you can't leave me with _him_."

"You'd be all right, you're a bloke. He's not on at _you_ about getting pregnant or being hormonal."

"You know," he dipped his head so that only she could hear. "You could make an official complaint about him."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm serious. I mean surely the kinds of things he's saying could be, well I don't know, sexual harassment or something. Given you're the only woman in CID I mean."

"So what do you suggest I do, Jim? Go to Brownlow and tell him I'm offended by Burnside suggesting I get pregnant? Leave it out. They'd laugh me out of the Met never mind Sun Hill. No..." she nodded thoughtfully. "I just need to toughen up a bit, fight fire with fire, that sort of thing. I worked bloody hard to get to where I am right now and I'm not going to let _him_ ruin it for me. God I miss Galloway and that's saying something."

"When he said about you getting pregnant...did you tell him about the miscarriage?"

"No," she made a face. "Why would I? It was three years ago. Anyway," she stood up. "I'd better get on. He's got me chasing up leads on the strength of the info we got from Alfie this morning."

"Good was it?"

"Well the Fuhrer seemed pleased," she replied, "and I guess that's all that matters."

XXXX

"Well?" Frank demanded when she returned to his office an hour or so later. "Did you get anything from the collator?"

"Nick Fisher and Ralph Metcalfe," she replied, placing two cards down on the desk in front of him. "Both have previous for possession with intent to supply, both live on the Cockcroft estate and Metcalfe just got out of jail two weeks ago."

"So Alfie was right."

"So it would appear. Metcalfe owns a lock up at the back of Dorrell Road so chances are, that's where the drugs are right now. If Alfie was right about the arrangements, then the exchange is likely to take place tonight or early tomorrow."

"Well they won't do it in Dorrell Road, it's too public," Frank observed. "They'd have to move the drugs somewhere more discrete before the handover."

"According to PNC, Metcalfe owns a six year old blue Ford van though it's apparently SORN'd at the moment due to him being inside. I asked one of the units to take a quick spin round the Cockcroft and they said it was parked outside his flat."

"Right, what about the buyer?"

"David Nelson..." she shook her head. "Nothing on him at all, not even an address. Maybe Alfie got the name wrong?"

"No," Frank said, "he seemed very sure, even if was crawling all over you at the time."

"Hardly," she replied, thinking back to what can only be described as a very pleasant conversation with an older man in a leather jacket with clearly dyed hair. "Anyway, I've been thinking."

"Dangerous pastime for you ladies."

"Should we let the Drugs Squad know?"

"And have them take this away from us? No chance!"

"But..."

"Do you want to hand this to your hubby on a plate?" he stood up. "Set him up for another commendation or suchlike? Maybe you do, but _I_ don't. This is going to be a Sun Hill operation. We'll set up an obbo on the lock up, follow the drugs and nick all three of them, or however many there are involved, when they make the exchange. So, better get yourself settled in for a long evening. I'll square it with Mr Conway."

"Right," she said as he left her standing in the office.

XXXX

"You didn't have to phone me at work to tell me this," Stewart said, his tone clipped. "I would have gathered if you weren't at home when I got back that something had come up."

"So you wouldn't have automatically assumed I'd been in some sort of accident then?" Christina queried, slightly put out by his lack of concern.

"No, I wouldn't. We don't all live on drama, Chris."

"I don't..."

"Look, I was going to be late myself anyway. Why don't we just say we'll see each other when we see each other? It's not that difficult, other married couples seem to manage."

"And there was me thinking you would be expecting me to be at home making your tea," she retorted.

"Oh grow up," he said. "If you've got some sort of guilt complex about working late that's on you, don't make it about me."

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, genuinely confused by his attitude. "Has something happened at work?"

"No, I'm just incredibly busy and I need to get back. I'll see you whenever." The dial tone buzzed in her ear and she realised he had hung up.

"Wow," she said replacing the receiver."

"Problem?" Mike Dashwood asked from his desk opposite.

"Do you something, the longer I know him the less I think I know him sometimes."

"Stewart?" She nodded. "Well he's all big and important in the squad isn't he? What is it, two commendations in the last year? I suppose his wife phoning to enquire about his schedule doesn't exactly fit his image."

"I wasn't phoning to enquire about his schedule, I was phoning to let him know I wouldn't be home, a courtesy I would have thought most couples would afford to each other in this sort of situation. Clearly, I'm wrong." Looking down at the papers on her desk, she lifted a report from the top. "Oh, well here's some good news."

"What's that?"

"Fingerprints from the building society job last month. They've matched Tommy Fulton and another bloke, Victor McDonald."

"Never heard of him."

"Me neither, but it should make the boss happy to know we've got something for that job. Is he still in with Conway?"

"Last I heard."

"Right," Christina lifted the phone, "let's see if the collator's got anything on our mystery man."

XXXX

"Are you sure the information's good, Frank?" Derek Conway asked suspiciously. "I mean, how reliable is this snout of yours?"

"He's one of the best," Frank replied. "He's never given me a bum steer yet and I don't see why he would now. All I need is a couple of uniforms to help with the arrest."

"And my sanction on overtime for how many from CID?"

"Well Jim, Chris and Mike should do it."

"Half the department then." Derek sat down at his desk. "I don't want another cock up Frank. Not after the building society job."

Frank smarted slightly, "Yes well we're still pursuing lines of enquiry on that. Tommy Fulton is still in the frame."

"I hope so. Otherwise a lot of time and money was wasted on nothing." Derek sighed. "I'll talk to Inspector Fraser and get you some bodies for tonight. What time are you wanting to start?"

"Nine o'clock."

"Fine. But I mean it Frank. I want a result on this."

"Yes sir," Frank turned for the door. "Oh and in case anyone asks, I did consider whether the Drugs Squad should be informed but I don't believe it's necessary."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Who came up with that idea?"

"One guess. But then, she is married to one of them." Closing the office door behind him he made his way back along the corridor towards CID only to meet a smiling Christina at the door. For a moment, he paused. It wasn't often she directed any such expressions towards him and, he had to admit, she was quite pretty in a way. "What are you grinning about?"

"Forensic results from the building society," she said, waving a piece of paper at him. "Fingerprints match Tommy Fulton."

"What, inside?" he grabbed the paper from her.

"Yup, on the top of the counter and the underside, so if he was thinking of suggesting that he left them there whilst being a legitimate customer..."

"He'd have no excuse for them being underneath." Frank grinned at her. "Do you know something, I could kiss you for this!"

Christina's face dropped. "Please don't do that, sir. I really don't want to have to report you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

Christina turned from where she had been looking out of the window into the inky black night surrounding Dorrell Road and frowned. "What?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"About what?"

"About reporting me."

She paused, wondering for a moment what Frank was referring to, then remembered the conversation when he had said he could kiss her over news of Tommy Fulton's fingerprints. "No, of course not."

"Good. Wouldn't do your career much good you know...making complaints about senior officers."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that, I'm not simple."

"Anyway," he shifted in his seat. "I could report you."

"Me? For what?"

"For the comment you made earlier about me and anything that moves."

She snorted back a laugh, waiting for him to share the joke and finding herself left wanting by his silence. "Are you being serious?"

He turned to look at her, his face half hidden by shadow, "I'm deadly serious, darling. I don't like having my character besmirched by idle gossip."

"Your...am in some sort of parallel universe?" she asked, choosing not to take him on as to whether it was idle gossip or, in fact, truth. He wasn't exactly known for his subtlety when it came to the women in the station he had tried to crack onto. "One where it's ok for you to say anything you like to me and about me but I can't reciprocate?"

"It's called rank," he replied. "You'd do well to remember that."

Christina sighed heavily and turned her attention back to the lock up a few hundred yards away. Two hours they had been sitting watching it and for two hours nothing had happened, nothing had stirred and she had been forced to make small talk with Frank. She had hoped to be paired with Jim, even Mike, but no. She had definitely drawn the short straw and once all work related chat had dried up, things had started to get personal. "I can hardly forget that you're my DI, sir, now can I?"

"Maybe it's because you're married to a detective sergeant," Frank observed. "I'm guessing he doesn't make you call him sir at home...or maybe he does in certain rooms..."

"Yes you're quite right. He likes to handcuff me to the bed and spank me while I call him sir, master, God..."

"All right, I don't need to know your kinky sex secrets." He shifted again. "All this sitting about is going to play havoc with my bad back. What the hell are they doing anyway? Why has nothing happened?" He lifted his radio. "Burnside to Dashwood, over."

"Dashwood receiving."

"Anything happening on your side, Michael?"

"Not a sniff, Guv."

"Brilliant. If Alfie's given me the runaround so help me God I'll swing for him." He tossed the radio back onto the dashboard and settled back in the seat. "So what's hubby doing tonight then?"

"Working," she replied.

"Must be tricky. Both of you in the job, both working shifts...can't be easy finding time to spend together."

"We manage."

"Most police marriages don't last, you do know that don't you?"

She rolled her eyes again, "I didn't actually, but thanks for letting me know."

"How long have you been married now?"

"Eight years."

"You must have been a child bride, young and naive."

Christina turned to look at him again, "As opposed to you, Guv? Old and jaded?"

"Burnside from Dashwood, over." Mike's voice crackled over the radio, sparing her from Frank's reply. "There's movement on this end. A blue Ford van making its way along Dorrell Road in your direction, over."

"Received, over." Frank replied. "About bloody time."

They sat in heightened silence, waiting as the van came into sight. As it approached the lock ups, its headlights darkened and it slowed to a stop. Through the darkness, Christina could make out two figures in the front. "Metcalfe and Fisher?"

"Probably."

Both doors opened and the men jumped out. One stood by the van while the other made his way over to the lock up and sprung the door open. A few seconds later, he reappeared carrying a box which he then placed in the back of the van before re-entering the lock up and repeating the process.

"He's doing all the heavy lifting whichever one he is," Christina observed. "Number Two's just stood there like a twat." After the fifth box had been placed in the van she glanced at Frank. "You want to nick them now or follow them?"

"What do you think?" he replied. "We might as well catch them in the act of supplying." The van door slid shut and the first man closed the door of the lock up. "They must be finished. All units from Burnside. Looks like the transfer is complete. We're going to follow the van at a distance. Ramsay and Haynes, you stay back here and keep an eye on the lock up and let us know if there's any other movement. Garfield, Yorkie, stay behind us."

"Yes Guv," Pete Ramsay's voice came over the radio, sounding less than thrilled at being left behind.

The van snapped on its headlights and began reversing back along Dorrell Road. "Mike, he's heading back towards you and Jim," Frank said. "Follow at a distance. We'll be behind you."

"Received," Mike replied.

Christina felt a frisson of excitement as Frank started the engine. There was something about being moments away from a big collar that always gave her shivers. It was as if all the regular shit didn't matter if you could have moments like this. Slowly, they made their way along Dorrell Road in time to see Mike's taillights disappear around the corner. Staying close, but not too close, they followed as the van led them through Canley and out towards the docks. "What if there's a ship or something?" she said. "This could be huge."

"Keep your knickers dry."

"They're bone dry, thanks."

They lapsed into silence again as, ahead, the van drew up alongside an iron gate and stopped. Mike pulled in behind another parked vehicle with Frank following suit. As the van doors opened and both men got out, Christina realised she was holding her breath. They moved to the back doors, appearing to be in conversation with each other, then both lit up cigarettes, the butts glowing in the darkness.

"They must be waiting for a buyer," Frank said. The words had no sooner left his lips when another van came down the road past them and pulled in alongside. "Run a PNC."

Christina lifted the radio and hurriedly called in the registration. "They're not exactly in a hurry," she commented as a third man got out of the second van and stood speaking to Metcalfe and Fisher.

"WDC Lewis from Sierra Oscar, over."

"Go ahead, over."

"Registration Delta Alpha Six Four, Romeo Hotel Hotel is showing to a grey Ford transit van. Registered owner is a David Nelson, 43 Latimer Gardens, over."

"Received. Well, well, well."

“Alfie was right. Told you he was a good snout.”

Suddenly, both sets of men opened their respective van doors and Metcalfe and Fisher began moving the boxes over, the third man standing back to watch. As the last box was being placed in the back of the grey van, Frank called it.

"All units, go, go, go!"

Christina leapt out of the passenger seat and ran towards the vans, mere moments behind Mike and Jim as George and Yorkie screamed up the road in the patrol car. Metcalfe and Fisher went one way, Nelson the other, slipping out of Jim's grip as he lunged for his jacket. Losing his footing gave her the advantage and, as he sought to leap over the gate, Christina grabbed him, pulling him back down and intending to put him on the ground.

"Police! You're under arrest..." before she could finish the sentence, he swung out of her grip, turned to face her and punched her squarely in the face, causing her to fall to the ground. Her ears starting buzzing and, for a moment, it felt as though he had broken her jaw. She could hear scuffling and shouting around her and then felt herself being pulled upright.

"You all right?! Chris, are you all right?!" Jim's face swam in front of her.

"Yeah..." she heard herself say, "yeah I'm ok..." she clutched onto his arm and then bent forwards, pressing her hand to the side of her face. "Jesus...did we get them?"

"All three in cuffs. You should sit down..." Jim propelled her towards the back of one of the vans and she sat down heavily on the step. "You sure you're all right?"

"She's fine," Frank said, coming up behind them. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," she replied, squinting at him.

"Good. Let's get this lot back to the nick then."

Jim took her arm again and helped her up. "All heart, isn't he?"

XXXX

"You wanting to see the police casualty surgeon?" Bob Cryer asked, pointing at Christina's face as he finished processing the last of the three prisoners.

"No, it's fine," she replied, touching her jaw. "I'll live."

"Which one was it?"

"Nelson," Frank replied. "So you'd better add police assault onto the charge sheet."

"As long as I'm not adding on a complaint," Bob said.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning he's got a busted nose, or did you miss all the blood?"

"He resisted arrest," Frank said. "Goes with the territory." He turned to look at her again. "You sure you're all right?"

"Well I'm not dead so let's take that as a win, yeah?"

"Well if you're sure..."

"Excuse me Guv," Tony said, sticking his head around the door. "There's a DS Church in the front office looking for you and WDC Lewis."

"Stewart?" Christina queried.

"Uh, yeah..." Tony said, clearly embarrassed. "He didn't look very happy."

A niggle started at the back of Christina's mind and when she looked at Frank she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Wordlessly, she followed him out of custody and through the corridors to the front office where Tony gestured to the interview room.

Stewart's face was white with anger and when she opened the door and saw him, Christina was convinced, for a split second, that he wasn't her husband.

"Well, well, DS Church," Frank said, closing the door behind him. "To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"I want to know what the hell you thought you were playing at," Stewart demanded.

"What are you on about?"

"I'm referring to you nicking David Nelson."

Christina frowned, "How do you know about that?"

"I'll tell you how I know," Stewart stepped forwards, his face inches from hers. "I know because we've been watching him for four months! Round the clock surveillance! So we couldn't really miss you bunch of hillbillies storming in and arresting him now, could we!"

"Now hang on a minute," Frank moved slightly in front of her, forcing Stewart to step back. "We received legitimate information about a drugs shipment on our patch. There were no memos from your department circulated stating you had any major operations going on Sun Hill ground so it's hardly our fault if we do our jobs!"

"And when you got this _legitimate information_ none of you thought of calling us to find out if we were even interested?"

"No, we didn't!" Christina said, shocked at his aggression. "Why would we?"

"Because it should have been obvious from the fact that Nelson was an unknown quantity to you that this was bigger than your little station! I don't give a damn about his little sidekicks Metcalfe and Fisher. For all I care you can sling the book at them, but I want Nelson released."

"No chance," Frank scoffed. "He was caught red handed receiving what looks to be heroin with a street value in excess of two hundred thousand pounds, not to mention he's responsible for doing that to her face," he gestured to Christina. "He's going nowhere except jail."

"You don't get it do you?" Stewart sneered. "Nelson isn't the end of the chain. He's a small fish in a very big pond, only we need the small fish to tempt the big fish. Our operation is vast and long running and isn't anywhere near completion so you'd better find a reason to get Nelson out on bail and hope to God he goes ahead with the next part of the operation or I'll be going to your Governor!"

"I think you're forgetting yourself _Sergeant_ ," Frank snapped. "Don't you come into _my_ nick and read me the riot act like I was a beat constable fresh out of Hendon!"

"Your rank doesn't impress me," Stewart said. "I've heard too many stories from this one to owe you any respect." He gestured carelessly at Christina. "Now, like I said, I want Nelson bailed and I want him bailed within the hour..."

"Or what?" Frank asked.

"Or, like I said, I'm going to your Governor and I really don't think you want the squad making a stink about this when you're not that long in the job. You don't exactly have the best reputation as it is, _Inspector._ " Without any further recourse, he stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

Christina felt shell-shocked. She had never seen Stewart so angry, never heard him berate a senior officer like that, not to mention that part of her was slightly hurt that he clearly hadn't given a toss for the fact that she had been injured, minor though it was. Glancing at Frank, she could tell he was furious. "I...I'm sorry."

"For what?" he turned to look at her. "For the way he spoke to me? For the way he spoke to you? Or for him letting slip that you've been telling tales about me."

"I haven't..." he threw open the door and left the room before she could finish, leaving her trailing in his wake along the corridor. "I haven't been telling tales!"

"Listen," he rounded on her. "I couldn't care less what you say about me over the dinner table or the duvet but I most definitely _do_ care about a jumped up sergeant coming in here and having a pop at me because of my relationship with you!"

"We don't have a relationship!"

"I'm not talking about that sort of relationship, Christina. I'm talking about the fact that your husband wouldn't have come barrelling in here like that if you didn't work for me! Maybe he thought it would be a turn on for you. That you'd get all hot and sweaty seeing him trying to get one over on me!"

"Well he thought bloody wrong if he's under the impression I get turned on by being screamed at too!"

"Yeah well..." Frank said, "He wasn't exactly falling over himself about your face either. Doesn't he care if you get injured on the job?"

"Of course he does," she replied, her tone more indignant than she felt.

"If you were _my_ wife, I'd be wanting to crack Nelson's skull open, not have him released!"

"If I was your wife..." she stopped herself quickly, before she said something she really couldn't come back from.

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Look, what are we going to do about Nelson?"

"We're going to bang him up, drugs squad or no drugs squad. Or do you suggest we just roll over and let them have their way?"

Christina paused. "No."

"Right then. Let's get him interviewed and once we've done that we'll ask for a remand and go home."

XXXX

"I've had a very irate DS Church from the Drugs Squad on the phone," Derek said two hours later after a predictable no comment interview from Nelson. "Though I would imagine that both of you would be aware of that. Now what the hell's been going on?"

"One of the men we nicked, David Nelson," Frank said. "It turns out the squad have been watching him. Looks like he's a courier. DS Church wanted him bailed so that he would hopefully carry on with the rest of the delivery and the squad could nail his buyer."

"Oh terrific," Derek said. "But instead, you've kept him locked up."

"He was caught with a large amount of drugs, sir," Christina said. "Letting him out on bail would have looked suspicious if nothing else."

"She's right," Frank said. "Any chance the squad had of him carrying on with the deal evaporated the moment we, legitimately might I add, nicked him."

"DI Burnside told me that you suggested we notify the drugs squad after the initial information came in," Derek said to Christina pointedly. "Sounds like that might have been a very good idea, don't you think so Frank?"

"With hindsight, sir..."

"No," Christina interrupted. "We did the right thing, sir. A crime was going to be committed on our patch and we stopped it. We shouldn't have to apologise for that."

Derek looked between them both. "Well I'll have to have a word with DS Church's senior officer and see if we can't smooth things over. There's no point in having poor relations with the squad."

"Thank you sir," Frank replied.

"Don't thank me, Frank, just make sure this sticks. Otherwise, I'm going to be coming after _you._ "

"Sir." Frank held the door open for Christina and then closed it behind them both. "I suppose you expect me to thank you."

"For what?"

"For backing me up over not calling in the squad in the first place."

"Forget it."

"Now you listen..." he stepped in front of her. "I don't need you coming to my rescue or whatever you thought you were doing in there. If you still believe we should have called them when Alfie gave us the information, then at least have the courage of your convictions to say that."

She stared at him. "What, even if...?"

"Even if," he said. "I can look after myself when it comes to the senior management team here, ok?"

"Fine," she said. "If that's how you want it to be."

"It is. Anyway, you should go home and try to make things up to hubby. Maybe call him 'sir' a few times to get back in his good books."

Christina made a face at him, "Very funny. Anyway, uniform have apparently picked Tommy Fulton up. I figured we could interview him about the fingerprints and this Victor McDonald bloke."

Frank shook his head, "Ted and I can do it in the morning. You look dead on your feet."

"I'm fine."

"Go home."

"You've been here as long as I have."

"I don't have a face like that though, do I?" he pointed to her face. "You're going to start feeling it soon and it's not exactly the image we want to project in an interview is it?"

She smiled wanly, "I suppose not. I'll see you tomorrow then or rather..." she checked her watch, "later today."

"Yeah," he turned towards the stairs then turned back. "By the way..."

"What?"

"Why did you lie to Stewart about suggesting we get the squad involved? You could have scored yourself some points with him if you'd been truthful."

Christina met his gaze. "I wanted to back the right team."

"And he wasn't the right team?"

"On this occasion, no."

Frank smiled at her, "Now you know why most police marriages don't last."


	5. Chapter 5

**16** **th** **November 1988**

"This is a bloody waste of time," Frank moaned, throwing the newspaper down onto the coffee table. "I've got better things to do with my time than be sitting around here waiting to give evidence in some poxy trial that should have been a guilty plea all day long! I mean, what are the defence playing at? How can they possibly think that they're going to get Nelson off? Especially with Metcalfe and Fisher turning Queen's evidence against him. Lunacy, that's what it is. Sheer bloody lunacy!"

"Have you finished?" Jim asked. "Only I am stuck here too you know."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Jim. Perhaps the CPS will decide your evidence is irrelevant."

"Well that would just be brilliant, wouldn't it? After me being sat here all morning with jobs piled in my tray a foot high."

"What is taking so long?" Frank got to his feet and started pacing up and down the witness room. "How long can it possibly take to tell the court what happened?"

"She's got to give evidence about the assault too."

"Oh, well maybe she's embellishing it."

"I doubt it." Jim lifted the discarded paper and scanned the headlines. "Did she seem all right to you this morning?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, did she seem all right?"

"No different than her usual self, why?"

"No reason."

Frank sat back down. "Is there something I should know?"

"No."

"Then why are you asking me if she seemed all right?"

"I dunno...it was just...an observation," Jim said. "I thought she just seemed a bit...off this morning."

"Huh..." Frank lifted his by now cold coffee cup and tossed it into the nearest bin. "PMT no doubt. Pretty Miserable Tart."

XXXX

"So what you're saying, Detective Constable Lewis, is that my client might have had no understanding or knowledge that you were, in fact, a police officer when he unfortunately struck you."

Christina ran her hand over her eyes and took a deep breath before answering the defence lawyer's question. She wasn't sure how many times she needed to answer the same point before they got the message. "No, that's not what I'm saying. When we exited our vehicles we identified ourselves as police officers."

"Perhaps in all the kerfuffle, Mr Nelson didn't hear you."

"He heard us. That's why he started to run away."

"And that's when you claim that he punched you in the face."

"It's not a _claim,_ it's a fact."

"Yes, quite." The lawyer paused and consulted the papers on the table in front of her. "Were you aware at the time of your operation that the area drugs squad had an interest in Mr Nelson?"

Christina glanced at Nelson in the dock, his expression impassive but his gaze level with her own. "Not at the time, no."

"When did you become aware of it?"

"After we had arrested Mr Nelson and taken him back to Sun Hill station for processing."

"And how did you become aware of it?"

"Detective Sergeant Church of the drugs squad attended at the station and advised us."

"Yes..." the lawyer smiled. "DS Church hadn't thought to advise you earlier? Over breakfast perhaps? Or in bed the night before?"

"Objection!" the prosecution lawyer got to his feet. "There is no relevance to this."

"It'll become relevant," Nelson's lawyer assured the judge who waved for her to continue. "Constable?"

"If you're referring to the fact that DS Church and I are married then no, he didn't tell me anything about his interest in Mr Nelson at any time prior to Mr Nelson's arrest." She tried to keep her irritation hidden, but could tell by the tone of her own voice that she had failed.

"I imagine he wasn't too pleased at you disrupting his investigation."

Christina shuffled slightly in the box. It was a bloody understatement to say the least. Mr Conway had held fast in the face of pressure from both Stewart and his own boss at the squad and refused to release Nelson to allow him to complete his business. It had been a source of great annoyance for Stewart and one that he had brought up often in the three months since. "No he wasn't."

"But I'm sure all was forgiven later on in the course of marital relations."

Christina opened her mouth to protest but the prosecution lawyer beat her to it and the judge upheld the objection.

"Constable..." the lawyer smiled at her. "Were you aware that Mr Nelson had previously lodged a complaint against your husband for harassment?"

XXXX

"He what?!"

"You heard me the first time."

"Well I want to hear you say it again so I know my hearing isn't going in my old age!"

Christina sighed, "Apparently, David Nelson had made an official complaint against Stewart accusing him of harassing him."

"When?"

"Twice over the summer. Before we nicked him."

"Oh well that's just brilliant!" Frank snapped. "And what exactly are the defence trying to make out of that?"

"That the entire operation has been some sort of set up... I don't know..." she ran a hand through her hair. "I did my best to deflect it, push the point that we had no knowledge of the squad's involvement but...I looked at the jury and I know they didn't buy it."

"No doubt the minute it was mentioned that he was your husband they were thinking all sorts of lurid things, you stupid bint!"

"And what exactly was I supposed to do?" she squared up to him angrily. "Lie about the fact we're married?"

"No, but maybe I should just keep you out of any drug investigations in the future just in case it comes back to bite me on the behind!"

"You can't do that and you know you can't! You can't use my husband's position in the squad as an excuse to..."

"Oh belt up!" Frank shook his head and turned his back on her dismissively. "You've given me one headache after another ever since I arrived at Sun Hill and this is just the bloody icing on hte cake! You'd be far better off getting yourself onto the squad so that you and hubby can work together and then we wouldn't have these potential problems!"

Christina bit her tongue, desperate to lash out again yet knowing that it wasn't going to do her any good in the long run. Not to mention the fact that she would like to see Stewart's face if she _did_ somehow manage to end up working alongside him. Something told her that he wouldn't be best pleased about it, even less so than he currently was.

"So what do you want me to do now?" she asked instead.

"Well I don't want you hanging around here like a bad omen," he turned to face her again. "Jim and I have got to give evidence believing that the crown can still win this trial. So why don't you sod off back to the nick and get something productive done for the rest of the afternoon. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes Guv," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Good." He pointed to the door. "Off you go then."

Despising him even more than she had thought she possibly could, she left quickly, jamming her car key into the lock and slamming the door behind her. She drove angrily through the streets from the court back to the nick, shouting at other drivers and almost colliding with Brownlow as he drove out of the yard as she drove in. Her anger continued all the way back inside and up the stairs to CID where she banged the door behind her, almost knocking out Pete as he came in at her back.

"Watch what you're doing!" he complained, pushing it open. "You're not the only person around here you know."

"Sorry," she said, throwing her bag down onto her desk. "It's been a bit of a shit morning so far, that's all."

"How did it go at court?"

"You're better not asking."

"Suit yourself." He dropped some papers on her desk. "Burnside was looking for this information earlier. Can you pass it onto him when he gets back?"

She glanced at it and then moved it to the side of her desk. "Don't you want to do it yourself? I know how much you _crave_ his good opinion."

He made a face at her sarcasm. "No thanks. Something tells me that _your_ bad mood is down to _his_ bad mood which is probably down to you anyway, so I'll stay clear. Just make sure he gets it." Turning, he left the room before she had a chance to respond.

"Prick," she muttered under her breath unkindly. Pete was a typical frustrated uniform bobby, desperate for any chance to get into CID, desperate for any chance to impress the man he so badly wanted to emulate. As if there was anything worth emulating. "Well..." she said aloud, looking through the window into Frank's empty office. "You're welcome to him."

XXXX

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. With Frank at court, and therefore not breathing down her neck, she managed to get through a fair bit of work, most of which she had been deliberately avoiding. Her mood seemed to give her the ability to power through the mundane tasks and, by four o'clock, she was actually quite happy with what she had achieved.

Glancing across the room, she looked at Ted who was buried in paperwork of his own, having returned an hour earlier from a mysterious meeting with a snout.

"Ted...can I ask your advice?"

"Oh, that's dangerous. Depends on what you're asking."

She got up and moved over to sit down at the desk opposite. "Do you think I should try for Sergeant?" He raised his eyebrows. "The application procedure's just been announced and the exam's in January. I think I'm ready but I don't want to make a prat of myself."

"If you think you're ready then it's got sod all to do with me," Ted replied.

"So you don't think I'm ready then?"

"That's not what I said."

"So?"

He leaned back in his seat. "I think the question you should be asking yourself is not whether or not you're ready, but rather why you want it."

Christina frowned. "Isn't it obvious? Promotion, pay rise, advancement..."

"And a way out of Sun Hill?" She said nothing. "You know that if you do get promotion, chances are you'd be moved on somewhere else. Stafford Row, Barton Street, maybe further afield. You have to ask yourself if that's what you want."

She looked down at the desktop, "Maybe it is."

"Look..." he sat forward again. "If you want to get away from a certain person, I don't blame you. Half the time I'm looking for a way out myself. But if you get it, and you do go, then he'll probably think he's won."

"I don't know what..."

"Oh come on, I'm not blind. Or deaf. He gives you a hard time, harder than you deserve because you're a woman. And he's just waiting for you to give up and go so it can be all boys together. What he doesn't realise, is that the force is changing, whether we like it or not. One day, you'll outnumber us in CID." Ted lit up a cigarette. "You're more than capable of becoming Sergeant, Chris, if you want it for the right reasons."

"But if I did go for it..."

"Right then!" Frank suddenly stalked into the room, bringing an end to the conversation and clapping his hands together. "Ted, I think it's time you and I had a little chat, don't you?"

"About what?" Ted asked, frowning.

"About your loan repayments. Conway's had National Trust on the blower again and he's not too happy about it. So he wants _me_ to talk to _you_ about how you're going to sort it. So, let's go." He headed over to his office door. "Chris, make yourself useful and bring us two coffees will you? Three sugars in mine. There's a good girl."

"Well, hang on..."

He turned to look at her, "Yes?"

"What happened in court?"

"Jim and I gave our evidence. Court's down until tomorrow for the defence to open its case. Any more questions or do I have to ask twice for the coffee?"

Christina narrowed her eyes as he winked at her before disappearing into his office. Ted got to his feet, shrugged and then followed him, closing the door behind him. Through the glass she could see them talking, could see that her boss had no compunction, no thought whatsoever for the way he had just spoken to her. Scraping her chair back, she got to her feet and moved over to the kettle, flicking the switch angrily. Ted was right. Getting away from Frank would be a big bonus to becoming sergeant and yet he was also right that, deep down, it was one of her biggest motivating factors for going for the promotion in the first place.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she lifted a spoon and reached for what she thought was the sugar, recognising just in time that it was in fact salt, left over from the last load of fish and chips they had had one night after an obbo. For a brief moment, she considered putting it in his coffee anyway, then she thought about the inevitable bollocking and realised that, as with so many things, it just wasn't worth it.

XXXX

"Sergeant? Why on earth would you want to go for Sergeant?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Christina replied, lying on her back looking at the ceiling. "More money, better prospects..."

"Don't you like it at Sun Hill, Burnside notwithstanding?" Stewart asked, rolling over to look at her.

"Yes..."

"So why would you want to leave? You'd be moved on you know."

"I know that," she turned to face him. "It might not be a bad thing in the long run."

"I thought you wanted to have a baby," he reminded her, reaching out to push some of her hair behind her ear. "Isn't that why we just had unprotected sex? You wouldn't be able to do both."

"I'm sure there are plenty female sergeants who are also mothers," she replied tetchily.

"Oh come on, you know the force is no job for a woman with kids. What if something were to happen to you?"

"What if something were to happen to _you_? Why should it be any different for me?"

He shook his head, "I don't think you understand how gruelling the job can be, Chris. You're always complaining that I'm working so much overtime and that's because of my rank. My DCs can usually go home at a normal hour but us DS's have to put a bit more in. There's no way that you could do that and look after our kids and there's no way I'm having them raised by nannies."

"God, you're such a chauvinist!" She rolled over onto her other side away from him.

"No, I'm a realist." He flicked off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness before dropping a kiss on her shoulder and rolling away again. Within moments, like every other time, his breathing became even, a slight snore escaping every so often.

She lay in the dark, her mind and body jangling. She knew he wasn't entirely enamoured at the idea of having children, he had only agreed they should try because he thought it was what she wanted and it was...sometimes. Other times she couldn't help but wonder what kind of mother she would make and whether or not he was right about how difficult it would be to juggle that and any elevation to her career. She had known him long enough to know, however, that his opposition was less about what childcare problems a promotion might present and more about her potentially reaching an equal rank.

She knew that, deep down, he wouldn't like that. He wouldn't like it one bit.

XXXX

If there was one thing she had learned since Frank had taken charge at Sun Hill, it was that very little ever got past him. Either it was because he had a very keen sense of when someone was thinking about something and enough savvy to be able to work out what it was...or someone in the department had a very big mouth. She wasn't altogether sure which it was, but her money definitely had to rest on the latter when he called her into his office first thing and looked her up and down as though sizing up her potential for something.

"Ted tells me that you're thinking of putting in for Sergeant."

Christina paused then looked over her shoulder back out into the room where Ted seemed to visibly shrink at his desk.

"Don't blame him. There might have been a bit of whisky involved in the run up to the revelation." Frank sat back and surveyed her thoughtfully. "Are you serious about it?"

She turned back to face him. "I..."

"What does hubby think?"

"I haven't discussed it with him," she lied.

"Really? I would have thought a decision like that would be something you would at least run by him."

"Why?" she snapped. "Do I need his permission?"

Frank raised his eyebrows. "No. Did I say that?"

"No. Sorry it's...it's been a bit of a morning, that's all."

"It's only just gone nine."

"Yeah well he's still angry about the whole Nelson thing," she said, thinking back to the argument they had had before she had left.

"Well I suppose we can hardly blame him. We did piss all over his operation." He paused. "If you _do_ want to apply for the boards, then of course you'd have my full support."

Ted's words from the previous afternoon rang in her ears. "Really?"

"I think you'd make a very good Sergeant. Perhaps better than some of those already holding that rank, and I don't just mean Ted." He held her gaze. "Do you want to apply?"

Christina paused. There were so many reasons why she should do it. All the thing she had mentioned to Ted; promotion, pay rise, advancement...even were she never to go any higher than sergeant it would be some sort of achievement.

Leaving Sun Hill, leaving Frank...perhaps the biggest inducement of all.

Or the biggest pitfall.

"I'm not sure yet," she replied as honestly as she could. "There's a lot to think about."

"I'm sure there is. Your husband doesn't strike me as a man who'd like to share rank with his wife, at least not going by his previous performance in here anyway."

"Yeah well..." she looked at the floor. "Like I said I don't need his permission." When he didn't reply, she looked up again and met his gaze. "Is there anything else, or can I get on with some work?"

"Of course you can Constable."

Without waiting for any further jibes, she turned and left his office, being careful not to bang the door behind her. "Thanks a lot Ted," she hissed, stomping back over to her desk.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I really didn't think it was a big secret."

"No..." she glanced back towards the office to where Frank was still watching her. "Well it isn't now, is it?"


	6. Chapter 6

**24th December 1988**

"There should be a law against working on Christmas Eve," Mike moaned, tossing his notebook down on the desk. "In fact, there should be a law against any sort of crime being committed on Christmas Eve as well. I've got a million things I need to get before the shops shut."

"Typical male," Christina replied. "Leaving everything to the last minute as usual."

"Oh and I suppose you've got everything all wrapped with bows on."

"I do as it happens. But only because Stewart thought it would be a good idea for us to host Christmas this year so his family are all arriving from Leicester this afternoon and expecting me to produce a fantastic Christmas dinner tomorrow. I've got too much prep to do tonight to be fannying about buying presents."

"Lucky you," Mike said, "I can't think of anything worse than being in charge of the cooking."

"No, but then you've got a mother who does it every year. We're not all that lucky." She made a face at the papers in front of her. "I don't know, some of these mock papers are ridiculously complicated. It can't be _that_ hard being a sergeant surely?"

"You're not revising are you?"

"Yes, of course I am. The exam's in less than two weeks!"

"Burnside will do his nut if he finds out you're doing that on his time," Mike warned her. "I thought you were meant to be collating the statements on that prostitute rape."

"I've done half of them and I'll get the other half done once I've finished this." She bent her head again. "Besides, Burnside's not here, is he? Privilege of rank giving himself Christmas Eve off."

"He's in the pub."

"Exactly."

"Which means that he could pop back at any moment to discover you skiving."

"I'm hardly skiving, this is important!"

"Hmmm...I seem to recall him not thinking it was that important the last time he caught you."

Christina didn't say anything, though she well remembered the incident. Despite having told her she would have his support in her quest for promotion, Frank seemed hell bent on making it as difficult for her as possible, telling her that she couldn't use any work time to revise and that if she couldn't find the time to do it at home then maybe she wasn't cut out for the time management requirements of a sergeant after all. He wasn't the only one. Stewart had been shocked when she had actually formally applied, told her he thought she was making a huge mistake and had redoubled his efforts to try to get her pregnant, rolling off with a "this time will be the charm" after every encounter. It had gotten to the point where she dreaded going to bed with him at night and was contemplating a secret visit to the doctor for a prescription for the pill. He had also started to come up with various 'projects' that could only be completed at the weekend, thereby forcing her to forfeit any studying time she might have had at home.

"I bet Stewart isn't chuffed."

"About what?" she asked, her mind coming back to the matter in hand,

"About you putting in for Sergeant," Mike replied. "He doesn't strike me as the kind of bloke who'd like to share rank with his wife."

"And you agree with him, I suppose."

"I'm not married, am I?"

"No, funny that."

She had to admit that her husband had actually been in a good humour over the last few weeks, no doubt chuffed with the fact that David Nelson had been found not guilty with regards to the possession and supply charges and also in respect of the assault on her. "Best result all round," he had told her, without so much as the slightest concern for what she had been through. If anything, Frank had been more sympathetic, promising her that if Nelson ever found himself in custody at Sun Hill again, justice would be meted out appropriately. She hadn't wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but it was nice to feel as though her boss cared about some aspects of her work, even if he showed disdain for others.

Of course, Stewart had waxed eloquently on many occasions about how Sun Hill had steamed in on the squad's operation, how stupid CPS had been not to see the bigger picture and pull the plug before the case had reached court and how much of an arsehole Frank was. Mostly, she had just let him rant, biting back on one occasion when he had been calling her boss all the names under the sun.

"You've changed your tune," Stewart had scoffed. "I thought you couldn't stand him."

"It doesn't matter what I think about him," she had replied, "but I'm not going to let you constantly badmouth the man for doing his bloody job!"

"He's a chancer, a complete chancer."

"Oh, and you're not?" The comment hadn't gone down well, and he hadn't spoken to her for three days until she had decided to be the bigger person and apologise. She couldn't help but think that all the negative aspects of his character had all started to come to the surface since she had started working with Frank. He had never given two hoots over what she got up to under Galloway's command and, on occasion, she harked back to what Harry Grimm had said about marriage being no barrier for Frank. Maybe Stewart thought he was interested in her. The thought made her shiver. As if she would ever even contemplate doing anything with him.

"Oh, this is pointless," Mike sighed heavily, pushing his chair back. "It'll have to wait. I've too much to do."

"So you're just going to leave?"

"You can cover for me, can't you?"

"And say what?"

"You're a resourceful girl. You'll need that to be a sergeant. You'll think of something." With an enigmatic smile and a flick of, what was highly like to be, an expensive scarf, he was gone, leaving her alone in the CID office, the only sound being the faint hum from the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Thankfully, the peace gave her the time she needed to work her way through the questions in the mock paper and she had just satisfactorily finished when the sound of voices coming up the stairs indicated that her boss had returned. He and Ted came into the office, the smell of whisky and fags in their wake, laughing at some joke that they would probably consider that she wouldn't find amusing.

"You finished those statements yet?" Frank asked by way of greeting.

"Almost," she lied, pushing the exam paper under her notebook and surreptitiously moving the statements around on her desk. "I've just got a few to type up."

He glanced at his watch and then narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought that's what you were supposed to be focusing on today."

"It is."

"Then how come it's four hours later and you're still not done?"

"Well, I…"

"I can imagine." He strode over to her desk, pulling the notebook up into the air, revealing the exam paper beneath. "I thought so."

"Come on Guv," she said, shooting a look at Ted who merely shrugged and turned away.

"I've told you before, not on my time. Or do you think the rape of a prostitute isn't worth you putting the effort in?"

"You weren't all that keen for us to investigate in the first place," she reminded him. "Something about it not being a crime?" It was an understatement. Belly laughs had gone around the room when the victim had come in to make her complaint. With any allegation of rape requiring to be investigated by a detective inspector or above, Frank had made little secret of the fact that it was a pointless exercise, designed to take up too much of his precious time, and had promptly allocated it to her, declaring her to be the nearest thing the victim could relate to. She had hoped that he meant a woman as opposed to suggesting she herself was some sort of tom, but she hadn't been completely sure.

"Well now you've gone to the bother of getting all those statements, I'd prefer you saw it through rather than kick it to one side in favour of furthering your career."

"That's not what I'm doing," she sighed, "but I need to revise."

"That's why it's called homework. You're supposed to do it _at home._ " He paused. "Or doesn't hubby let you?"

Christina glanced over at Ted again, his eyebrow raised, clearly as keen as Frank was to hear the answer to that one. She paused, toying with how honest to be, and eventually deciding she no longer cared to pretend. "No, he doesn't, as it happens. He's not too thrilled with me for applying."

"Oh," Frank said, "like that is it? Jealous, is he?"

"Hardly. He's already a Sergeant himself."

"Doesn't want to be matched rank-wise by his wife then."

"No." Frank didn't say anything for a long moment, and she found herself under the scrutiny of his microscopic gaze for longer than she felt entirely comfortable with. He had a way of making her feel that he was analysing her and repeatedly finding her wanting. "But anyway, like you said, I shouldn't be doing it on your time." Lifting the statements again, she started flicking through them, aware that both men were still watching her.

"On this occasion only," Frank said finally. "But you need to set some boundaries in your house, Christina, otherwise you're never going to get anywhere. What time are you supposed to be clocking off?"

"Four."

"Right, then you've got another hour to get as much done as you can, haven't you? Whatever you haven't got finished will just have to wait."

"So, you're not going to make me stay late?" she asked, aware of the pathetic note of hopefulness that her tone encompassed.

"No, but whatever's left you need to have done when you get back next week. I'm not having CPS give me a hard time about the proper preparation of this case into the dawning age of 1989, understand?"

"Yes Guv, thanks."

"Don't thank me. You pass this exam and you'll most likely be leaving this cushy place for God knows where. And you won't have a decent guvnor like me watching your back."

Before she could reply, he had swept back into his office, closing the door with a bang in the process. Ted lit up a cigarette and blew smoke in her direction. "Consider it a Christmas gift."

"From who, the Grinch?"

"Oh, come on. He could have bollocked you for that _and_ made you stay late to finish those statements. If you _do_ make Sergeant, you'll have to manage your time better."

"Well with the example _you_ set, that shouldn't be too difficult." She smiled sweetly at him. "Isn't that right, Sergeant Roach?"

"Don't knock it darling. There's far worse than me or him to deal with in the Met. You'll find that out soon enough."

XXXX

Michael had not seen fit to put in an appearance that afternoon, nor had he darkened the door of the pub, so the only explanation Frank was able to come up with was that he was skiving in order to finish his Christmas shopping at Harrods, or wherever it was that people of his social class spent their money. He could imagine the younger man cooing over cashmere and gold-leaf fountain pens like a kid in a sweet shop and the thought made him roll his eyes. Yuppies. They spent too much and expected too much in return. Thank God for a normal family, like his own.

Christmas Day would be what it was every year. His sister, Pat, always put on a good spread and her house was always filled with noise and laughter, the product of having a husband, four offspring, a mother and a mother-in-law, not to mention himself. He enjoyed the atmosphere, playing with the kids, though the eldest was getting a bit too smart-mouthed for his own good, then drinking himself into quiet oblivion with his brother-in-law before stumbling home in a taxi and then spending Boxing Day in the local boozer. Ideal. No stress over keeping a wife and kids of his own happy. Just doing his own thing.

He looked out of his window into the CID office at those who were still pretending to work. Ted was leafing through the newspaper, a glass of whisky on his desk and a cigarette in his hand, Jim was on the phone, his feet up on his desk and Christina was furiously working on the typewriter. Looking at them, he could well imagine what each of their Christmas Day's would look like. Ted would either be in the pub or sharing the bed of a woman he barely knew, Jim would most likely be well-mannered and well-behaved at his mother's table, waiting for the chance to scoot off to meet Sonia or Carol or whatever little tart he happened to be seeing and as for Christina, well, he wasn't entirely sure what her day would resemble. He knew that her in-laws were coming from Leicester, but he hadn't been able to gauge how pleased or not she was at the prospect. She sighed suddenly and threw her hands up, reaching for the Tippex beside her and shaking her head, and he concluded that before she left for the holiday, he needed to know.

"Oi!" he shouted, not even bothering to rise from his chair or open the office door. All three of them looked in his direction and he gestured to Christina. "You. Now." A look of annoyance flashed across her face and he saw her glance at the clock before getting to her feet and moving towards the door.

Opening it, she leaned halfway in, "Guv?"

"Well come in and close the door."

"I'm just…"

"Now."

Rolling her eyes slightly, she did as he asked and then hovered in front of him, clearly not keen to sit or give the impression that she had the time to chat. "What have I done now?"

"Nothing. How are you getting on?"

"I'm on the last one now."

"Good." He smiled at her.

She continued to stare at him, her eyebrows slowly raising as she clearly waited for him to say more. "Is that it?"

"Eager to get away?"

"Well I've got a lot to do, so…"

"Of course, you're hosting this year, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"How many have you got coming?"

"Four. My in-laws and Stewart's brother and his wife."

"Looking forward to it?"

"I suppose so."

"You don't sound too convinced."

She frowned at him, "I'm surprised you're interested, Guv."

"The wellbeing of my officers is always at the forefront of my mind, Constable."

"Really?" A smile curved around the corner of her mouth.

"Yes," he replied, marginally irritated that she would think his commitment to his troops lacking. "How long are they staying?"

"Until the 30th. They're heading back north in time for New Year."

"Well, the exam's not until, what, middle of January?"

"It's the 8th."

"Plenty of time. You should try and relax a bit, enjoy Christmas with the family before things get busy around here again."

"When are things _not_ busy around here?"

"Right now, if you judge it by the actions of those two out there." He paused. "If you want this promotion, then it's yours for the taking. But you have to make sure you have your priorities right."

"Meaning what?" she frowned.

"Meaning…family is more important. There's no point in getting your old man's back up over this now, is there? You're young. You've got plenty years ahead of you to climb the greasy pole."

"So, what you're saying is, I'm going to fail, right?"

"That's not what I said…"

"Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Guv," she got to her feet. "Not that I would expect anything less."

"Hold on a minute." She paused and turned back to face him. "That is _not_ what I meant. All I'm saying is that keeping your marriage together has to be a priority too. Do you want this promotion causing a wedge between the two of you?"

"That's his problem, not mine. Why should I have to sacrifice what I want just because I'm the wife in the scenario? Is that what _you_ would have expected if _your_ ex-wife had been in the job?"

He paused, thinking on the question, never really having considered it before. She had been a secretary, a career not quite on a level with his own. Ruefully, he had to admit that perhaps, deep down, that had been part of the problem. "She wasn't though, so the question is irrelevant."

"Well, you did say that most police marriages don't last, so what else should I expect, right?"

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to get a read on her. "Are you happy?"

"Are you offering me marriage guidance, sir?" she laughed shortly. "Because, if so, I think I'll pass."

"I wouldn't be as presumptuous as to attempt to give any advice to someone who has the perfect relationship now, would I?" She held his gaze, and he could see the conflict playing out beneath the surface. She was loyal, he had to give her that. "Look, all I'm trying to say is, don't make this promotion the rock that all else perishes on. Trust me. I've been there."

She nodded, "Point taken Guv, thanks."

"Right then, get those statements finished and get on your way. Oh, and if you see Michael on your travels, tell him I want an explanation as to why he's seen fit to skive off this afternoon."

She smiled at him again, "Yes Guv, with pleasure."


	7. Chapter 7

**23 rd January 1989**

“Oh well,” Stewart said, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. “Better luck next time I suppose.”

Christina looked up from the piece of paper in her hand which informed her, in fairly straightforward and blunt terms, that she had failed the exam and couldn’t help but notice the small smile playing around her husband’s lips. When the envelope had landed on the doormat earlier that morning, she had been terrified to open it, afraid of seeing the result that she was now looking at and, yet, she still couldn’t understand how she had managed to fail. The paper had been difficult, but she genuinely thought she had answered all the questions well. Walking out afterwards, she had felt a sense of confidence that had clearly been misplaced. It didn’t help either that Stewart seemed so pleased about her failure, even if he was trying to hide it.

“I can’t believe it,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I was so sure…”

“We all have off days. You probably just missed something crucial out, that’s all.”

“Well it must have been a bloody big thing to make me fail the whole exam.”

He turned to look at her. “It’s not worth getting upset about. Like I said, you can always try again. Though of course, if you _do_ end up being pregnant, it might not be as easy.”

Choosing to ignore his last comment, she stared back down at the page again, already dreading the reaction she knew she would get from the rest of CID once they heard. She would be the joke of the canteen for weeks to come. Pride goeth before a fall and all that. Not to mention the fact that Frank would probably be unbearable about it. “I’m not looking forward to telling people, especially Burnside.”

“Oh, he’ll already know,” he replied. “Senior officers get copied in on exam results.”

“What? How is that fair? Why should he know before I tell him?”

“Because he’s your senior officer. Brownlow will know too, I suspect.”

“Brilliant,” she tossed the letter onto the table and got to her feet. “So I can expect the Spanish Inquisition from all ranks then.”

“Stop worrying about it,” he slid his arms around her waist and turned her to face him. “It’s just not meant to be, that’s all.” He kissed her and she felt the brush of crumbs on her face. “I’ll probably be a bit late home tonight, but I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Ok.” She watched as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, wondering if she was being unreasonable for expecting more from him. It wasn’t that she wanted him to cry with her or anything like that, but an acknowledgment, even an unreasonable one, that the markers had got it wrong, that she was absolutely sergeant material and that it was the Met’s loss would have been nice. By the time she had gathered herself together and got into the car, she was late, and the morning rush hour traffic hampered her progress far more than she would have liked, resulting in her running up the stairs and into the CID office just as Frank was addressing the troops. “Sorry Guv,” she said, sliding into her chair. “Traffic.”

“As I was saying…” he looked her up and down briefly. “Ted and Mike are going to be in court all day today for the security van robbery and Jim’s called in sick.”

“Malingerer,” Mike muttered.

“My thoughts exactly. But investigations don’t stop because Carver’s got a sore tummy so Tosh, you can take the assault last night down at the Beckwith Arms. The landlord there’s a good pal of mine so make sure you give him the gold star treatment.”

“Right Guv,” Tosh replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

“And you…” he turned to look at her again. “You and I are going to visit an old pal.”

“Old pal?”

“Yes, but I’d like a word in private first please, Constable.”

Rising from her desk to follow him, Christina couldn’t help but wonder if his reference was a dig at the fact that she had failed the exam, or simply his preferred method of identification. It could be hard to tell sometimes, but as she closed the door and turned to face him, she tried to remind herself that he was, in fact, her boss, and for that alone he required some respect.

“You’re late.”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. The traffic was bad.”

“I don’t want excuses. I want you here, on time and ready to work.”

“I _am_ ready to work.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” He paused, looking her up and down again. “There was a letter waiting for me on my desk this morning when I got in. A letter about you.”

“A recommendation I be honoured with an OBE was it?” she made a lame attempt at humour and, to Frank’s credit, he at least smiled. “Yeah, I know what it said.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Gutted. I thought I’d done well.”

“I know. I remember you telling us all that when you completed the exam.”

“Yeah, well…” she felt her face flush with embarrassment, having hoped he might have chosen to forget her bravado. “I guess that teaches me a lesson, doesn’t it?”

“It teaches you, that sometimes in this life, you don’t always get what you want on the first go.”

“I’ll bet you made both DS and DI on the first go,” she peered at him, curious as to the answer but not wanting to give him the impression that she really cared about what it was. She had heard a lot of stories about his rise through the ranks, flitting around the canteen as they had when it had been rumoured that he was going to be taking over from Galloway. Bob Cryer certainly hadn’t been slow in offering his opinion on the subject at any rate. It had been no secret that a lot of officers had considered Frank to be bent.

“I did as it happens,” Frank replied. “Though there were plenty people in the Met who didn’t think I deserved either.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me, and it won’t work. You’re _still_ out of order for being late and you and I are _still_ going out. What you’re _not_ going to do, is wallow in your own misery over one stupid exam. You can always take it again next year if you’re that desperate.”

“It’s not a question of being desperate…”

“No?”

“No. It’s a question of wanting to further my career. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that personally, Guv, even if other people do.” She thought once more about Stewart and his reaction to the news. It had hurt to see him so uncaring about it, almost pleased that she had failed. It was one of the first times she had really questioned their own partnership and she didn’t like what she was coming up with.

“Hubby took the result better than you did then,” Frank said, reading her mind.

“Well, he said much the same as you, that there’s always a next time.”

“And there is. You’re turning into a good copper, Christina. Don’t let this dampen your enthusiasm for the job.”

_Turning into…cheeky git_. She tried to keep her expression impassive even in the face of the backhanded smear. There seemed little point in arguing that, in her own opinion, she was already a good copper. After all, what did it really matter? She was unlikely to ever change Frank’s attitude towards her.

“No Guv,” she settled on, “I won’t.”

“Right then. Five minutes and we’re going. I’ve got to speak to Brownlow first. But that is not an excuse for you to head off down the canteen for a fry-up. This is working hours, all right?”

The hypocrisy was nothing short of incredible, but she simply nodded and turned back towards the door. “Yes Guv, understood.”

XXXX

“So, she failed.”

“Yes sir, she did.”

“And how did she take the result?”

“She wasn’t too pleased. She felt she had done better than she had.”

“Yes well, failure’s never really welcome, is it Frank?”

“No sir.” He waited while Brownlow hung up his coat and moved over to his desk. “I had a chat with her about it though, tried to keep her spirits up. Yes, she’s disappointed, but she’ll bounce back.”

“She doesn’t really have a choice, does she?”

“No sir.”

“It doesn’t look particularly good on us though, having a constable fail a sergeant’s exam, especially not in CID.”

Frank paused and frowned, “How do you mean sir?”

“Area keep track of all those who apply and the results. It doesn’t reflect well on Sun Hill if we have continued failures, at any rank.”

He knew what his superior officer was referring to and yet Frank couldn’t help but think that there was a certain level of hypocrisy in his words that he found hard to ignore. “I’m assuming you’re referring to Ted Roach.”

“Yes, I am,” Brownlow sat down at his desk. “Seems counterproductive somehow for him to go forward to the inspector boards every year only to fail.”

“So, you’re suggesting I should disavow him of the notion of going forward this year?”

Brownlow met his gaze, “Well, I’ll leave that up to you Frank. I think you know my feelings on that score.”

As he made his way back to his office, Frank knew _exactly_ what Brownlow’s feelings were when it came to Ted. Though he had only been at Sun Hill six months, the feud between them was legendary, stretching back years. Ted had been on a sticky wicket on more than one occasion and it was no secret, at least not to anyone who wasn’t Ted, that promotion would never be forthcoming whilst Brownlow was in charge of writing a recommendation. It did, however, rankle with him that Ted seemed to be oblivious to that and he knew the other man’s morale was often low.

“You’re still here then,” he greeted Christina sat, as she was, alone at her desk.

“Well, you said five minutes and banned me from the canteen so…”

He glanced through the window into his office to his desk, groaning as it was with paperwork. Rank certainly wasn’t everything and, in one respect, he knew she had had a lucky escape. Not that the workload of a sergeant compared with that of an inspector. He wasn’t just a copper, he was a manager, faced with juggling several different balls and wearing many different hats. Sometimes, it seemed more hassle than it was really worth.

“Right then,” he turned back to her. “Let’s go.”

XXXX

“So where are we actually going?” Christina asked, climbing into his car and putting on her seatbelt. “It’s not another clandestine trip to see Alfie, is it?”

“No,” Frank replied. “Though I’m sure you can put your feminine charms to good use. We’re going to see Tommy Fulton?”

“What, in the Scrubs?” He nodded. “Why?”

“Because I got a whisper that he wanted to see me, that’s why.”

“Seems odd.”

“Why? Because he coughed to the building society job?”

“Yeah, exactly.” In the aftermath of the David Nelson fiasco, it had been easy to almost forget about the building society robbery and the fact that Tommy Fulton’s fingerprints had been found at the scene. Though he had made no comment in his initial interview, when presented with the unassailable facts he had, shockingly, made a full confession, pled guilty at court and subsequently received a four-year sentence, all without so much as a peep of complaint. “I mean, he’s banged up now so it’s not as if anything he might want to tell us is going to do him any favours, is it?”

“Never turn down the opportunity to talk to a slag,” Frank replied. “You never know what titbit of interesting and useful information you might get. And even if you get nothing, it’s all about building connections.”

“I doubt very much you’re going to recruit Tommy Fulton as a snout, Guv.”

“Maybe not, but then we never did track down Victor McDonald, did we? Maybe Tommy’s decided it’s time to give his old running mate up.”

“I suppose,” she nodded, though it seemed unlikely. If Fulton hadn’t seen fit to cough up McDonald’s whereabouts before, she very much doubted that he would do it now, but she also found herself musing on the relationships that could spring up between officers and members of the community. For all that she disapproved at times of her boss’s attitude and methods, she had to admit that he had an enviable network. “I’ll let you do the talking then.”

He pulled into the gate of the prison and looked over at her. “Well, I’m sure if there’s an opportunity for you to stick your oar in, you’ll take it.”

As she followed him across the car park and into the prison building, she felt herself shiver involuntarily. It wasn’t that she was afraid, after all the prisoners were all behind bars, but she couldn’t help but be reminded of times long past, times she would rather forget. They went through the rigmarole of signing in and putting on visitor’s badges and were then led into a small room where Tommy Fulton was waiting. He greeted them warily, his eyes roaming over her, full of mistrust.

“Who’s this then?” he gestured in her direction.

“This is my colleague, WDC Lewis.”

“I made it clear I wanted to speak to _you_ ,” Fulton said. “I didn’t realise you needed to bring along a wet nurse.”

She sensed Frank bristle slightly as they sat down on the opposite side of the table, but he kept his voice level in response. “Like I said, she’s my colleague, and sometimes four ears are better than two, know what I mean?” Fulton frowned and looked down at the table, as though contemplating what to say next. “This is your meeting, Tommy.”

“I know that.” He looked up again, his gaze flitting between them briefly before settling again on Frank. “It’s about McDonald.”

“Who?”

“Victor McDonald, as if you didn’t know.”

“Oh, one of your mystery accomplices.”

“Yeah, him.”

“What about him?” Fulton said nothing. “I bet he’s loving the fact that he’s out there footloose and fancy free while you’re stuck in here for the next four years.” Frank paused. “Your wife been to see you?”

“He’s planning another job.”

“Really?” Frank raised his eyebrows. “He’d better remember and wear gloves this time then, hadn’t he?”

“Got away with the last one though, didn’t he, despite that?”

“Are you saying you know where and when this other job is?” Christina asked, Fulton’s gaze swivelling to meet hers. “And that you’re prepared to tell us?”

“You married?” Fulton asked, staring at her.

“Yes.”

He turned to Frank, “You?”

“No.”

“Better off…” he looked away again. “My missus has told me that’s it, that’s she’s had enough. She wants a divorce and she’s going to make sure I never see my kids again.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Frank said, in a tone that implied he was anything but. “But what’s that going to do with McDonald?”

“Well, like you said, he’s footloose and fancy free, isn’t he? He was just as involved in that robbery as I was, so why shouldn’t he pay the price?”

“Tell us where we can find him and we can nick him,” Christina said. “We’ve already got his prints.”

“No,” Fulton said. “No, I do that, and he’ll know it was me. He’s got friends in here and I’d like to live to at least try and have a relationship with my family when this is all over. No, you need to catch him in the act of another job and the information can’t have come from me.”

“All right then,” Frank leaned forwards across the table. “Tell us what you know.”

XXXX

“Do you trust him?” Christina asked as they made their way back to the car forty minutes later. “I mean, he could be leading us up the garden path.”

“I don’t trust him, but I believe him,” Frank replied. “What’s he got to lose by telling us any of this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’d like us to look stupid again.”

“You’re very cynical.”

“And you’re not?”

He paused as they reached the car and considered her words, knowing that there was a least a grain of realism in what she was saying. Could they trust Fulton? Was his information accurate and how much of an idiot would he look if it all went wrong again? Sense told him to tread carefully, take things one step at a time, but stubborn pride told him that he was going to have McDonald, at whatever cost. “He’s given us details of the job, so I’ll feed that to some of my snouts and see what the word is. We’ve got a week at any rate.”

“ _If_ he’s telling us the truth.”

“Yes, all right Jiminy Cricket, thank you for the pep talk. You know, if you ever _do_ want to become Sergeant, you have to take a few risks sometimes. You can’t always play it by the dutiful Constable book.”

“Really…” she shook her head and turned to look out of the window. “Well then maybe I’m just not cut out to be Sergeant at all then.”

“What did I tell you about wallowing?” he started up the engine. “I don’t need another Moany Minnie on my team. I’ve already got Carver for that. After the shift tonight go home, get yourself dolled up, have a nice dinner with hubby and then bang his brains out. I’m sure you’ll feel better after that.”

She turned to look at him, her expression one of disbelief. “Is that what you would tell any of the boys to do if it had been them that had failed?”

“It would be, actually. I thought you were hot on not being treated any differently from any of them.”

“I am…”

“Well then.” The logic was clear as far as he was concerned. If she wanted to be treated equally, then she had to be willing to take the banter, good and bad. “Fact is, you work with a group of men.”

“I worked with a group of men before you arrived at Sun Hill Guv, and…”

“And what?” he cut her off, daring her to say more, daring her to confirm what he knew was the truth. That she found his style, his attitude, his demeanour far worse than that of his predecessor. That she felt disregarded and demeaned as a woman, somehow failing to realise that he was treating her as far more of an equal than anyone else ever had.

“Nothing,” she said finally.

“Good. Well then, let’s go and see what we can find out about this job. I do _not_ want egg all over my face again. The last time was bad enough.” He looked at her sideways. “Even if, in the aftermath, I got to see you parading around the station in a somewhat indecent dress.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her swing to face him again, mouth opened as if to protest. Then, seemingly to think better of it, she closed it again and turned back to the window.

“Well,” she said after a moment. “I’m glad you appreciated it, _sir_.”


	8. Chapter 8

**30th January 1989**

"Don't you think you should say something?"

"About what?"

"You know about what."

Christina sighed inwardly and wished, not for the first time, that she had kept her big mouth shut. Ever since she had told Viv, the other woman had been on at her to make it official, something that she had no intention of doing given she wasn't even sure herself. "No, I'm not going to say anything."

"Chris…"

"Just leave it Viv, will you? What would be the point in saying anything?"

"The point…" Viv leaned forwards, "is that we're going to hopefully be arresting people. Putting hands on them, maybe getting into fights with them. You can't be doing that in your condition!"

"Keep your voice down!" Christina hissed, glancing behind her at the other members of relief milling around in the canteen. "There's no 'condition'. Not for definite anyway."

"No, but there might be and that's reason enough." Viv shook her head. "Don't you want this baby?"

Christina looked down at the floor, unsure of how exactly to answer her friend's question. In the wait for her exam result, the disappointment that had followed and then the frisson of tension that had gone around CID at the prospect of catching McDonald, the fact that she hadn't come on hadn't really been at the forefront of her mind. It had only hit her a few days earlier that her monthly, so usually like clockwork, hadn't appeared and, in a moment of female solidarity, and perhaps madness, she had confided her thoughts to Viv. Her feelings about the potential of motherhood seemed many and varied at the current moment. To be honest, in answer to her friend's question, she wasn't entirely sure that she _did_ want the baby.

"It's not a question of not wanting it…"

"Then what is it a question of? You need to tell Burnside, Chris, you know you do."

"Even before I know for sure myself?"

"Yes! The minute an officer falls pregnant she has to be put on restricted duties, and that doesn't include going out on a job like this. You've already had one miscarriage. Do you want to have another one? Why won't you tell him?"

"Why do you think? The minute he finds out that I even _think_ I might be pregnant, that's it. I might as well kiss my career in CID, and any chances of ever getting promoted, goodbye. He'll have me benched and then no doubt find some way to have me kicked back down to uniform, and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction!"

"So, you're going to play the martyr instead?" Viv shook her head. "Look, it isn't just all about you, is it? Say something goes wrong today and you end up unable to back one of us up, all because you didn't tell your boss you might be pregnant. How would that make you feel?"

"Are you trying to make me feel massively guilty here? Don't you think I have enough things to consider?"

Viv's expression softened, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I'm just trying to give you a dose of reality here. If you _are_ pregnant, and you lose it because something happens on this operation, how will you feel?"

"I don't know," Christina replied, draining the remains of her coffee. "I don't know how I feel about anything right now."

XXXX

"You're confident about this information then?" Conway asked from behind his desk, his expression one of mild disbelief. "I mean, we don't want any cock ups like the last time."

"Well, it was hardly a cock up, sir. We got Fulton…in the end."

"I'm not talking about the building society raid, Frank, I'm talking about the fiasco involving the Drugs Squad."

"That wasn't our fault," Frank argued. "We got what we needed. If the judge wanted to give David Nelson a walk, then that's not down to us. The information was solid on that occasion and I'm confident it's solid now too."

"Coming from Tommy Fulton?"

"Exactly. He's got nothing to gain by giving us this and everything to lose. If McDonald finds out he tipped us the wink, it'll be lights out for poor Tommy."

"Or they could be in this together and be looking for a way to stitch you up."

"No sir," Frank shook his head. "When Chris and I met with Tommy, he was straight with us, genuine. He's worried about losing his wife and kids and he's resentful that McDonald's still out there living his life."

"Perhaps he should have thought about that before getting involved in these robberies." Conway shook his head. "How many bodies are you using?"

"All of CID and some uniform back up. Mr Brownlow gave the ok the other day when you were at Hendon."

"Yes, I know. Well then, I look forward to hearing news of your success, Frank. God knows you need it."

"Thank you, sir," Frank muttered before leaving the office and heading back downstairs to the briefing room where the troops were waiting. He was unwilling to admit that he too had had sleepless nights about the information, where it had come from, and how stupid they were all going to look if the job didn't go off. But, equally, how stupid would they all look if it _did_ go off and they had done nothing? "Can't bloody win sometimes."

"Can't bloody win what?" Ted asked, coming up behind him as he reached the door.

"Oh, nothing. Just Conway giving me his usual pep talk. Is everyone ready?"

Ted nodded. "What time are we heading out?"

"In the next ten minutes, so let's look lively." He pushed open the door and stepped in amongst the noisy rabble of chatter and laughter that echoed around the room. There was a frisson of excitement in the air, one he couldn't help but subscribe to himself. Jobs like this were what it was all about. "Right then! Are you all fit?" There was a chorus of replies from around the room and he stepped over to the whiteboard where all the information for the job was laid out. "So, this is what we know. According to Fulton, McDonald and his crew are going to hit the City Bank on Barbour Street around ten o'clock this morning. Their aim, unsurprisingly, is to get as much ready cash as they can get their hands on and then be gone before anyone outside is any the wiser. Now, he's apparently got two other blokes running along with him. Martin Nicholls and Lloyd Vance."

"Do we know them Guv?" Tony piped up from the back of the room.

"Not personally, no. They've not previously been active on our ground, to our knowledge, but Fulton says that they're pretty experienced and will be tooled up, so we've got TSG on standby in Dalton Street, just in case we need them. So, Tony and Barry, Pete and Viv, I want you four keeping an eye on the alleyways behind the bank. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a second getaway car. Ted and Jim, you take the west side, Mike and Tosh, the east side and Chris and I will take the north side. That way, we've got every angle covered. Now, I want results on this one, so keep your eyes peeled, your ears open and your running shoes on. Got it? Right, that's it."

A flurry of activity started up again as everyone began to move towards the door and as he turned back to look at the board again for one final look, he was startled by Christina appearing at his side. "Problem?"

"Uh, well…"

"If you're about to drop some clanger on me that the Drugs Squad, or your husband, have an interest in any of this, then please don't bother. I don't want a repeat of last time."

"Oh, no…" her face flushed slightly, and she looked away. "No, it's nothing like that. I mean, as far as I know they…he…have no interest in any of this but…"

"Can you spit it out, whatever it is?" he interrupted her, growing weary of the procrastination. "It's almost eight-thirty and I want us in position by nine at the latest in case these slags are early."

"Well…"

He waited, watching her expectantly as she appeared to struggle with some sort of inner conflict, and was about to take her by both shoulders and shake whatever it was out of her, when June appeared on his other side.

"I'm sorry to interrupt sir, but…"

"Oh no, interrupt away! I have no idea what this one is wanting to apparently tell me, but it can't be that important given she seems incapable of getting her words out!" Christina blushed again and he shook his head, turning around to face the other woman. "What is it?"

"CPS are on the phone for you, sir."

"Brilliant, just what I need right now. Take a message and tell them that someone will call them back."

"They said it was urgent…"

"Well it's always urgent when they want it to be, isn't it? It's never urgent when we need a decision on something, and right now, I've got a job about to go off, so it'll have to wait." He turned back around to where Christina still stood behind him. "Are you fit or not?"

She nodded, "Yes Guv."

"Right then, let's go."

XXXX

The atmosphere in the car was tense and Christina wasn't sure if it was because of the operation itself, or because she had been completely incapable of relaying important news to him, albeit at a very late stage in proceedings. Having spoken to Viv, she had weighed everything up and had reached the conclusion that the other woman was right and that it wasn't fair to her or any of the others to keep her possible pregnancy a secret. She had been all set to tell Frank but, faced with him, she had lost her bottle. There had been something in the way he had looked at her that had made her resolve crumble. She wasn't entirely sure if it was fear of disappointment or simply fear itself, but June's timely intervention had brought a halt to any notion of spilling her guts, as it were. Besides, chances were, it was simply a false alarm.

"Do you know, I partnered up with you thinking that you might at least have had some decent conversation to pass the time," Frank broke into her thoughts. "I'd have been better going with one of the others, any of them. It's like a morgue in here."

"Sorry," she said automatically.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" he turned and looked at her. "You sure?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"So, what was it you were attempting to tell me earlier then?"

"It was nothing," she looked out of the window and down the street towards the front of the bank. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, it clearly _did_ matter given that you were going to tell me right before we left to go on this obbo." He paused. "Everything all right at home is it?"

His question threw her, and she turned back to look at him, "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering if you'd gotten over your failure yet."

"Oh, that. Yeah, all forgotten."

"Liar. I bet you still think about it at least fifty percent of every day."

He was perceptive to the point of infuriation and Christina took a deep breath, unwilling to get into another debate about it with him. "Ok, yes I still think about it, but there's nothing I can do about it right now, is there?"

"No, there isn't. You and Stewart all right about it now?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I just don't mention it. Seems safest."

"Not very nice though, is it, when the person who should support you the most seems pleased when you don't succeed?"

She turned to look at him again, imagining that she could see some sort of kinship in his expression, as though he had experienced something broadly similar in his own life. "No, it isn't."

"Still…you just have to pick yourself up and carry on, don't you? Not to mention remind yourself that perhaps their support isn't the be all and end all after all, right?" He looked at her meaningfully and she felt herself nodding. "Good."

Turning back to look out of the window, she wondered if that was why she felt so ambivalent about the possibility of having Stewart's child, the fact that he had shown that he really didn't support her in something she had considered to be so important. How was that meant to translate into harmonious parenting, perhaps the most important role of all? Curiosity piqued about her boss's own life however, she chose to push the thought from her mind. "You sound like you're speaking from experience, Guv."

"Maybe I am."

"Your ex-wife?"

He turned to look at her again, his eyes flickering over her face, as though he was sizing up whether to trust her or not. "Yeah," he replied after a long moment. "You could say that."

"She wasn't in the job then?"

"No, that was part of the problem."

"Only part?"

He smiled ruefully. "The one advantage of being married to another police officer, is that they understand what it's like. The shift work, the late hours, the overtime, the paperwork, not to mention the things you have to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Regular civilians just don't understand that sort of thing. She didn't like the fact that she never knew where I was or who I was with, or what it was like to have close camaraderie with the people you worked with. Not the same if you're just in an office."

"No, I suppose not." She paused. "Is that why you separated?"

"Amongst other things." He shifted in his seat. "I was unfaithful." The revelation didn't surprise her, in fact, she would have been shocked had there been any other real reason, but good sense prevented her from reacting in the way that he probably expected her to. "Go on, say it."

"Say what?"

"Anything that moves, remember?"

She felt her cheeks redden at the memory of the conversation. In all honesty, her opinion on the subject hadn't really changed, but she couldn't help but feel regret at having said it. Beneath all the bluster, he was still a person with feelings. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"True though."

"If you say so."

"We were incompatible right from the start. It was never going to work. I don't think it came as any great surprise to anyone when it ended."

"Did you end it or did she?"

"She ended it and I suppose it was a relief all round. We can't all be lucky enough to meet our soulmates at, what, sixteen?" She nodded. "Sounds awful."

"It has its moments. He's all I've ever known. I suppose I can't really comprehend being with anybody else."

"In any way?"

She rolled her eyes at his insinuation, "I don't think _that's_ really any of your business, Guv, do you?"

"No, I suppose not."

Silence descended in the car once again and she found herself poised to tell him her news. What was the worst that could happen after all? Yes, he would probably be angry, especially given her timing, but surely in the long run he would see that she had made the right choice. Viv had been right in what she had said. It wasn't just herself that she needed to think of. "Guv…"

"Yeah?"

"About what I was going to say earlier."

He looked over at her again. "What about it?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you that…"

"Burnside from Lines, over."

Frank grabbed the radio that was sitting on the dashboard, cutting off any opportunity for her to finish her sentence. "Go ahead Tosh."

"There's a blue Golf approaching from our side. Registration Sierra Delta Four Romeo Foxtrot November. It's going pretty slowly. Looks like the driver could be casing the place, over."

"Any other occupants?"

"Looks like two other males in the back, over."

"Right, this could be it!" he turned to her with a smile of triumphant expectation. "Whatever it is you were going to tell me, can it wait?"

"Yes Guv," she nodded wryly, the moment having long gone. "It can wait."

XXXX

Nothing felt better than a job that had gone to plan. Three arrests, money all safely returned to the bank and nobody hurt. As far as Frank was concerned, congratulations were due all round. It had gone off just as Tommy Fulton had predicted and as McDonald, Nicholls and Vance had emerged with their ill-gotten gains, they had been immediately pounced upon. None of them were particularly pleased to be in custody, but then nobody ever was.

"A good result then Frank," Conway said, coming into the custody area as the three prisoners were processed. "No bumps in the road."

"None at all, sir. Went off like a dream."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. It'll be confessions all round then."

"Well, if it isn't, I'll be interested to hear their explanations. Being caught red-handed as they were."

"Well done."

"Thank you, sir." Frank turned around as Ted came up behind him. "A good result, Ted."

"Yeah, full marks for Fulton. Where do you want to start? McDonald?"

"No, I want to keep him until last. He knows the score and how to play the system. I want to have a crack at Nicholls and Vance first. They're unknown quantities and they might be willing to give something up to save their own skins."

"They might be as savvy as McDonald. There's no way this is their first job."

"No, but you never know." He glanced around. "You seen Madam anywhere?"

"Toilet, I think. I'm just going to grab a quick coffee then happy to start whenever you are."

"Ideal." He watched as Bob took the details of the last prisoner before propelling him across to the cells, just as Christina emerged from the toilets. "Thought you'd fallen down the bog."

"Sorry Guv."

"You all right?" he peered at her, noticing the flush on her face.

"Fine Guv, never better."

"I see…" he paused. "Womens' problems, is it?"

"Yes," she replied, a broad smile breaking out across her face. "Exactly that."

"Fine," he shook his head in mild confusion. "Take five for a coffee, then we're getting started, all right?"

"Absolutely." She grinned again and then hurried off along the corridor towards the canteen, leaving him pondering the mysteries of the female mind.

"Bonkers," he muttered to himself. "Bloody bonkers."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The background story to this chapter is taken from the series 5 episode, 'Saturday Blues'. Frank's goddaughter (who he's also legal guardian of) takes an overdose. Frank blames her boyfriend, Terry Palmer, a drug dealer though it turns out, in the end that she had in fact taken her own life. Frank felt very guilty about not being there for Tracy and the episode ended with him contacting her parents in Australia to break the news.

**18t** **h** **February 1989**

She was dead.

It didn't seem to matter how many times he said it to himself, over and over, it still hadn't quite sunk in. How could she be dead? How could her life be over? It just all seemed so...unreal. When he had last seen her, three months ago, she had been really happy. How could so much have changed in three months? How could she have gotten to the point that she did and, more importantly, how had he not seen it?

Frank looked down at the address book open on his desk in front of him displaying Kevin and Jackie's number in Australia. How was he supposed to tell them? How was he meant to find the words to explain what had happened to their daughter? His goddaughter...well he'd made a pig's ear of that. When Kevin had asked him, all those years ago, he had thought it was just something mates asked of each other. He hadn't known at the time that one day he would actually have some responsibility for a twenty-one-year-old. Even then, he hadn't lived up to the vow he had made.

It was probably a good thing he'd never had any kids of his own. He would have been a terrible father.

He poured some more of Ted's whisky into the glass and stared into the honey-coloured liquid. Her boyfriend Terry Palmer had been right. He hadn't been there for Tracy. She was just someone that occasionally came into his mind along with a quick reminder that he should check in on her. But she was also an adult. A young woman. What would she had wanted with a forty-something godfather breathing down her neck?

_Where were you Burnside...?_

He could hear Palmer's voice over and over in his mind, screeching at him as he'd been led away to the charge room. There was no answer to his question except... _nowhere._ He had been too busy, too involved in his career or with whichever woman happened to take his fancy that week. Now a young girl was dead, apparently at her own hand, and he knew he was at least partially to blame.

He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to make the call, but he knew that he owed it to her parents to be the one to tell them. As he steeled himself to lift the receiver and dial the number, there was a soft tap at the door and, looking up, he saw Christina on the other side. He was surprised to see her but, in a strange way, also relieved. Nodding to her, she pushed the door open and stepped into his office. "What are you still doing here? I thought you'd left hours ago."

"I had paperwork to catch up on from last week's car theft," she replied. "Besides, I ran into Ted and he told me about Tracy and, well, I just wanted to check if you were all right."

"I'm fine," he lied, knowing that she would see through the words anyway.

"Do you need anything?"

He shook his head, touched by her concern. "No, thanks." She nodded and turned back to the door. "Wait."

"Guv?"

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down." She did as he asked, and he slid the bottle over to her. "Drink?"

"No thanks. Whisky goes straight to my head. I'd be a mess inside ten minutes." She paused. "Have you thought about what you're going to say to her parents?"

"What can I say other than the truth," he replied despondently. "Their only child is dead and it's my fault."

"No Frank," she said hastily, sitting forwards. "It's not your fault. She took the drugs of her own free will. No-one forced her."

"I should have been there for her. That was the whole point of being her legal guardian after all, to be there for her. Ted told me Palmer said in interview that she had called me but that I'd been too busy to speak to her." He shook his head, hating himself even more. "I don't even remember the phone call."

"You don't know that she _did_ phone you," Christina reasoned. "Palmer probably made that up just to salve his own conscience. If anyone's to blame for this, it's him, not you. He might not have given her the drugs, but he was responsible for her getting to the point where she felt she had to take them. He could have helped her, and he didn't. Her parents will see that, in time."

"Yeah..." he lifted the receiver and started dialling the number.

She gestured to the door. "Do you want me to...?"

"No, stay," he replied, suddenly desperate for the reassuring presence of another person whilst he made what would surely be the worst telephone call of his life. "I might need you." The phone starting ringing at the other end, a long sound that only emphasised that it was somewhere far away, and he couldn't help but hope that no-one would answer or at least, if they did, it would be Kevin and not Jackie. Neither prayer was answered however, as the receiver was suddenly lifted, and Jackie's voice floated down the line. "Hello Jackie?" he said, as brightly as he could. "It's Frank."

"Frank, hi!" She greeted him happily, in a way that only made his heart sink further. "How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What time is it there?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Nearly bedtime."

"Gosh, it's early here. Another lovely day, mind. We were just about to have some breakfast."

"Breakfast…then off to the beach?" He could picture the scene in his minds eye. "Lucky you."

"Yes, absolutely. What's it like there with you?"

"It's been raining here all week." He looked over at Christina again, at her silent encouragement and he knew he couldn't stall any longer. "Listen Jackie, can I speak to Kevin?"

"Oh sure, I'll just get him. Kevin! Kevin, it's Frank!"

He swallowed hard against the lump rapidly forming in his throat in the silence that ensued whilst the phone was passed from one to the other. He was about to shatter their entire world. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time in his career that he'd had to deliver bad news, but when it was a friend, it only made the situation a million times more difficult.

"Frank!" Kevin's voice rang in his ear. "This is a nice surprise. You working nightshift or something?"

"Something like that. I…um…I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Kevin. Some very bad news."

"Oh? What is it? It's not your mum is it?"

"No," he felt his insides start to chill. "No, it's…it's your Tracy."

"Tracy? What about her?"

"I'm afraid…I'm afraid that she's dead."

XXXX

Christina found that she had been holding her breath throughout Frank's entire phone conversation. Delivering bad news was always the worst part of the job, but over the phone, thousands of miles away, it had to be so much worse. She listened as the sound of raised voices came from the other end of the line and as Frank tried to explain what had happened. He clutched the receiver tightly and closed his eyes as the shouts continued, the questions coming thick and fast, one after the other without giving him the time to answer. Eventually, he held the receiver away from his ear and she instinctively got to her feet and took it from him, in time to hear a male voice shouting that he _must_ know what happened. She did her best to placate him, eventually ascertaining that Tracy's parents would be catching the first flight home they could. Finally, when she put the receiver down, silence descended in the office.

"Thank you," Frank said, after a long moment.

"That's ok," she hovered at the other side of his desk, watching as he retreated inside himself and to the bottom of his glass. "Is there anything else that I can do?"

"No," he said, looking up and meeting her gaze. "No, you get off home. Stewart must be wondering where you've got to."

"I doubt that." She paused. "I'll see you in the morning then."

"Yeah," he lifted the whisky bottle again. "See you in the morning."

She felt awful leaving him, and yet she wasn't quite sure why. He was far more experienced than she was in these sorts of things, but Jackie and Kevin were like family to him, Tracy his goddaughter. It had to hurt, even someone like Frank, who tended to act as though he was incapable of being touched by anything or anyone. It was the first time she had felt or seen any real emotion from him. When she had spoken to Ted, he had said he had needed to stop Frank landing a punch on Palmer. That side of his character she could believe, but the painful side, the regretful side…the vulnerable side...that was something new entirely.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Stewart demanded when she walked through the door an hour later. "Do you know what time it is?"

Glancing at the clock on the wall she saw that it was past eleven. "Sorry, I got held up."

"And you didn't think about calling to let me know?"

"No actually, I didn't." She flopped down onto the couch and sighed. "It's been a long day, ok? Burnside's goddaughter took an overdose and..."

"Oh, I couldn't give a monkeys," Stewart waved his hand dismissively. "I _do_ give a monkeys about not knowing where you are though."

"The last time I called you to tell you I was working late you bit my head off!" she reminded him. "And _you_ never tell _me_ if you're not going to be home on time. It should work both ways."

"Yeah, well it doesn't," he sulked. "Anything could have happened to you."

His concern touched her slightly though she couldn't help but think that, deep down, it was less genuine than she would have liked to believe. More a case of him being put out not to be kept in the loop than being worried for her welfare. "Well, it's nice to know you care."

"So…" he looked down at her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "What happened to his goddaughter then?"

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm not, but you might as well tell me now."

"She took an overdose of anti-depressants."

"What, deliberately?"

She sighed, "I don't suppose we'll ever know."

"Hmm…well, if you had a godfather like him, you'd probably want to kill yourself too."

His words brought her up sharply and she stared up at him, almost unable to believe that he could be so callous. "That is an _awful_ thing to say, Stewart. How can you even _think_ something like that?"

"What?" he shrugged. "Can _you_ imagine having someone like him in such a position in _your_ life?"

"It's not about me," she got to her feet. "It's about him and how…broken he is by it. How he blames himself…"

"Oh really? And why would he blame himself if he didn't feel somehow responsible?"

She shook her head, unable to believe they were even debating the merits of it all and thinking, not for the first time, what a lucky escape she'd had a few weeks earlier. "I'm not discussing this with you. I'm going to bed."

"Oh, come on…" he caught hold of her arm as she made to move past him. "We're not going to start a domestic over bloody Burnside, are we?"

"I'm not starting anything," she said, pulling away and regarding him coolly. "I'm finishing it. Good night." She turned away and headed for the stairs, ignoring her husband's mutterings and suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. As she undressed and climbed into bed, she wondered if Frank was still sitting at his desk, drowning his sorrows, or if he had gotten his act together and gone home. As she turned over and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, she found herself hoping that he was all right.

XXXX

The flat was dark, not that he had really expected it to be any other way. Every night when he came home, he always said to himself that he should invest in some sort of timer so that there would be a lamp on once night fell. Every day he thought about it and every day he never followed through. It had become almost comforting, the familiarity of it. And yet, on days like today, it simply felt cold and uninviting.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the sound of Kevin's cry of pain at hearing the news or Jackie's screams in the background. Their world had collapsed around them with the strength of a few words, words he had delivered, and he felt responsible for that, even if he knew rationally that he wasn't to blame. Wandering to the fridge, he pulled out a beer and then slumped down onto the couch. He didn't need the alcohol; indeed, coffee might have been a better option, but the bitter taste of the liquid seemed soothing somehow and the bottle was empty before he realised. Contemplating a second, he moved back to the fridge and then paused. Getting pissed, even though it seemed like the obvious thing to do under the circumstances, would do him no favours in the long run, not when he was supposed to be having a meeting with Conway and Brownlow the following morning about crime figures. He needed to be on top of his game professionally, even if everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The bed was cold, just as he liked it, but as he lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, the thought of a warm body next to him filled his mind. The comfort, the pleasure of holding someone, even if it wasn't about sex, was too often underrated in his private opinion, not that he would ever express it publicly and, right at that moment, he could have done with someone. He thought about the little black book in his jacket pocket, the one that contained names and numbers given to him by flattered women who purred and smiled and melted just at the scent of a bit of attention. He knew that any one of them would most likely be more than willing to come and comfort him if he asked. He might not be the best-looking bloke in the world, but he had the market cornered when it came to charm and that was all some women needed.

His eyes grew heavy and, as he was contemplating who he might like to share his bed with that night, sleep claimed him.

 **25** **th** **February**

Frank slammed his office door shut leaving Ted incredulous on the other side. Slowly, he turned back around to face the rest of the room. "What did I say?"

"It's not you," Mike said.

"Well, that's a relief. Just when I was beginning to think we were starting to get on..."

"It's the funeral tomorrow."

"I'm aware of that," Ted said. "And I know he's feeling shit about it but that doesn't mean..."

"Give it a rest, Ted," Christina piped up from her desk, shooting him a look. "Not today, yeah?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replied sarcastically. "I didn't realise we all had to make special dispensation, do forgive me." He sat back down at his desk. "It wouldn't be that if it was the other way around."

"Yes, it would, and you know it would," Christina replied. "He's helped you out a lot. You'd be up to your eyeballs in bankruptcy and most likely homeless if it wasn't for Burnside sorting things out with National Trust for you. Since when has that been a core element of the job description?" To her satisfaction, Ted didn't reply, choosing instead to light up a cigarette and blow smoke into the air. "Yeah, I thought as much."

"All right then Miss Perfect, do you want to speak to him?" Ted rounded on her again. "Whether he wants to talk about it or not, we still need an answer on whether or not the Kelly Larkin case should go to CPS."

Christina paused, thinking about the recent case of a woman who had stabbed her husband and was claiming self-defence. "Well, we don't need an answer today, do we?"

"Speak for yourself. I want it off my desk."

"Yes, because you're so diligent, aren't you Ted?"

"That's Sergeant Roach to you!"

"All right, all right, cool it, the pair of you!" Mike shook his head in disgust as he looked between them. "Arguing like a couple of overgrown schoolkids. Chris, maybe you _should_ speak to him. You seem less likely of late to get his back up than Ted does."

"Oh, well thanks very much," Ted replied. "I'll have you know he thinks more of me than he does of her, and don't we all know it."

"I'll ignore that," Christina replied, getting to her feet and making her way over to Frank's office. Glancing through the window, she knocked once on the glass and waited for him to admit her entry. When he did, and she looked at him properly, she saw the dark circles under his eyes and immediately felt a pang of concern. "Guv?"

"What do you want?" he replied acerbically, his eyes on the paperwork on his desk. "You come to give me a hard time and all?"

"No, well…Ted and I _do_ need an answer on the Kelly Larkin case but, I was just actually wondering if you were all right?"

He looked up and met her gaze, a frown marring his features. "How do you mean?"

"Well, just about Tracy and…"

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, well I just…"

Frank let out a long breath and then threw his pen down. "I don't know. I don't know _how_ I am right now."

"Well, I reckon that's understandable."

"I've got to go to this funeral tomorrow and face her parents…" he shook his head. "God only knows how that's going to go."

Though he hadn't offered, she took a seat opposite him. "Have you not seen them since they flew in from Australia?"

He shook his head. "Not for want of trying. I've called and left messages, but they haven't called me back. I'm guessing they don't want to see me and I suppose I can't blame them. I just hope, really hope, there isn't some kind of scene tomorrow. That's the last thing I want. For their sake and Tracy's."

"I'm sure they'll be too wrapped up in their grief to want to start any sort of argument with you. Besides, they haven't got a leg to stand on as far as blaming you is concerned."

He looked at her again. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I do." There was a pause then, an elongated moment of silence where he held her gaze and she held his, wondering what she was supposed to say next, what other comfort she should or could offer, or whether she should simply get up and go back to her desk.

"Part of me was thinking about not even bothering going."

"I think that would be a mistake."

"Why?"

"I just…" she fought for the right words. "I just think you would regret it, that's all, and you seem to be beating yourself up about enough at the moment."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." He sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't suppose…"

"Don't suppose what?"

"Nothing."

"What?" she pressed.

"Well…you don't want to come with me, do you?"

"What, to the funeral?"

"No," he shook his head as though the very suggestion was ridiculous. "No, sorry I asked."

"No, hang on." He looked at her again. "If you want me to come, then I'll come."

"I mean, it doesn't have to be you. Anyone would do I suppose. Reckon it would just be better having someone in my corner, so to speak. If you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she replied softly. He wanted someone there who knew what had really happened, who wasn't swayed by emotion, who could back him up if necessary. "Maybe Ted would be a better choice though? He was the one who dealt with Palmer."

"No," Frank glanced through the window at the other man. "He's a liability, especially right now. I'm better off with someone level-headed, like you."

"I'll take that as compliment, shall I Guv?" she smiled.

"Take it any way you like. You up for it then?"

"Of course," she replied. "Just let me know where and when."

"It's 11 o'clock down at St Martin's, then on to the cemetery."

"Fine."

"We can go from here together."

"Of course."

"Right then." He held her gaze again. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Getting to her feet she moved back over towards the door and then turned back to face him. "About Kelly Larkin…"

"Send the case file to CPS. Let them be the ones to make the final decision, it's what they get paid for."

"Right Guv, thanks." Closing the door behind her, she made her way back over to her desk, catching sight of Ted looking at her as she sat back down. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Teacher's pet," he muttered.

"Hardly," she replied, glancing back through the window into Frank's office where his head was, once more, bent at his work. "But it makes the atmosphere a bit more bearable."


	10. Chapter 10

**26** **th** **February 1989**

Christina pulled into the first available parking space and turned off the engine, but Frank made no move to get out of the car. He simply sat where he was, staring out of the window at an unidentifiable spot in the distance. His conversation since they had left the station had been virtually non-existent and though she had tried to talk about unrelated matters, she hadn't wanted to push him in terms of discussing where they were going. He had looked no better that morning than any other morning of late and she couldn't help but feel concerned for him.

"We don't have to go in," she said after a moment's silence and continued hesitation on his part. "Not if you really don't want to. No one would think anything about it."

"They'd think I was too ashamed to show my face," he replied, his tone flat. "Using police work as an excuse not to be there for her, yet again."

"No-one thinks that."

"Jackie and Kevin do."

She paused. "They feel guilty and they're looking for someone to blame. You know, and I know, that there was nothing you could have done."

"I could have phoned her back," he said, looking at her for the first time, his expression nothing short of bereft.

"And you've only got Palmer's word that she even called you in the first place," she reminded him. "For all we know, she never bothered. For all we know, she was too busy going mad with her mother's credit card. You can't..." she broke off as he suddenly opened the door and got out of the car, slamming it shut behind him. Swiftly she followed suit, hurrying to catch up with him at the entrance to the church. "Frank!" He stopped and turned back to look at her. "You can't keep blaming yourself for this."

Without even so much as a flicker of understanding of what she had said, he turned back again and stepped inside the church, leaving her to trail in his wake and, after having lifted an order of service, join him in the very back pew. The congregation looked sparse and it made Christina wonder, yet again, what kind of a girl Tracy had been. It was too simplistic to say that all suicides were selfish, but it was a view that she knew many subscribed to and she found her feelings on the matter swaying between sympathy for the dead girl and anger for the pain she had left behind for so many people.

The thought brought her up sharply and she glanced at Frank out of the corner of her eye, feeling the anguish he was going through coming off him in waves. She wished that there was something else she could say, something she could do, to try and reinforce to him that it wasn't his fault, and yet she knew that anything she said or did wouldn't help. The last funeral she had been at had been her own mother's and at least there she had had Stewart for support. Frank only had her, and she wasn't exactly in the best position to comfort him, even if she did find herself tempted to reach for his hand, as inappropriate in so many circumstances as that would have been.

"At least Palmer won't be here," she said, for something to say. Frank said nothing, so she lapsed into silence as the rest of the mourners filed in. Shortly afterwards, the organ started to play and those that were there rose to greet the coffin. She watched as a man and a woman, Tracy's parents she presumed, followed in its wake, clutching each other and crying and she sensed Frank stiffen beside her at the sight of them. The service was short, a few hymns, a few prayers and the vicar gave a brief eulogy. There was no mention of Palmer or of the fact that she had taken her own life. But then, she supposed, that wasn't the sort of thing that _would_ be said. It was all over almost before she knew it, the coffin proceeding back up the aisle, Tracy's parents following.

As they drew level, her father looked over and she saw his face change. The devastation etched into every crevice turned to anger and it took her a moment to realise that he was looking at Frank. As she watched, he took a step forward, clearly poised to say something, only for his wife to swiftly take hold of his arm and pull him back into line. Seconds later, they were gone, and the remaining mourners began filing out behind.

"Did you see that?" Frank asked quietly as they fell into line.

"Yes. I take it that was Kevin?" He nodded. "It's only natural that he's upset."

"Yeah…with me."

She wanted to say something more, and yet she felt as though she was running out of platitudes for him beyond what she felt she could say as a junior officer, technically under his command. Eventually, they emerged out into the chilly air and she was about to ask him at which cemetery the burial was taking place, when she suddenly saw Tracy's father storming over towards them, no longer restrained by his wife, his expression one of fury.

"Guv…"

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Kevin demanded angrily, ignoring her and squaring up to Frank. "You've got a nerve showing your face here today!"

"Kevin, please…"

"You were supposed to look out for her! You were supposed to take care of her and instead…instead you let her get involved with that…that bastard!"

"Believe me, if there was anything I could have done…"

"You could have done a lot, Frank, only you didn't, did you? You were too busy looking out for yourself, looking out for your career, to bother about Tracy! That's the truth of it, isn't it?!"

Christina looked at Frank, willing him to fight back, willing him to defend himself against the ridiculous charge being levelled at him in the way that only he could. But he didn't. He simply stood there while Kevin railed at him and called him every name under the sun, attracting the attention of the other mourners. Glancing around, she saw Jackie watching and found herself half expecting the other woman to do something, to take control of her husband, to stop what was happening. Instead, she simply stood and watched, surrounded by people who seemed equally happy to watch the spectacle unfold.

"You were supposed to look after her!" Kevin shouted. "You were her godfather for heaven's sake!"

"Now you hang on!" Christina said, pushing herself in between the two men and rounding on Tracy's father, unwilling to listen to anymore. "I know that you're upset Mr Johnston and you have every right to be, but you're taking it out on the wrong person! None of this is Frank's fault!"

"Then who else am I supposed to blame?!"

"Maybe Terry Palmer! He's the one who introduced her to drugs after all. Or maybe take a look at yourself and the fact that you and your wife took off to Australia leaving Tracy here on her own! She overdosed on anti-depressants! Maybe, as her parents, you should have realised there was something wrong!" The moment the words had left her mouth, she regretted them, despite her belief in them. Blaming the family in such a situation wasn't something you were ever supposed to do, especially not as a police officer, and yet how could she let them heap the blame on Frank when it wasn't down to him?

"You what?!" Kevin suddenly grabbed hold of her jacket and pulled her roughly to the side, for the briefest of moments looking poised to punch her, until Frank suddenly came between them, prising the other man's hands away from her.

"Take your hands off her, Kevin!"

"My daughter is dead!"

"Yes, by her own hand! That doesn't make any of us feel proud but it's what happened!"

"Kevin…don't…" Jackie suddenly appeared at her husband's back, her face streaked with tears. "He's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Christina rounded on her. "How can you say that? How can you blame him in all this?"

"I don't want you at the graveside, Frank," Kevin said, wiping his hand across his face. "Take yourself and your little bodyguard here and push off. We're done."

"Kevin…"

"I mean it! We're done! I don't want to see you again." Putting his arm around his wife's waist, Kevin steered her away in the direction of the funeral cars.

Several other mourners continued to gawp until Frank rounded on them. "What are you lot looking at? Enjoy the show, did you?!"

"Guv…" Christina put her hand on his arm, and he flinched, almost as though he had been burned, and pulled away. "Come on, I think we should go." For a long moment, he didn't respond, simply watched as the cars pulled away and everyone else began to disperse. His expression was unreadable and yet she could make an educated guess as to how he was feeling. "Guv?"

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" he retorted angrily. "You think I can't handle being spoken to like that? You think I can't take it?"

"That's not what…"

"You had no right getting involved!" he looked at her again, his expression angry. "He could have hurt you!"

"Well, he didn't," she replied calmly. "And I couldn't just let him keep having a go at you like that, could I?" He let out a long breath and ran his hand over his eyes. "Look, let me take you home."

"No."

"Back to the nick then?"

Shaking his head, he moved past her back in the direction of the car. "I need a drink."

XXXX

He'd never felt worse in his life, and that was saying something. The end of his marriage, things that had happened in his career…nothing compared to how he felt now. He wished more than anything that he could turn back time, that he could have made sure that he was there for Tracy. But it was too late, it was all too late. Glancing up, he saw Christina watching him from the bar where she was waiting to be served. It had been a spur of the moment thing, asking her to accompany him, and there had been moments when he had questioned whether it had been a wise decision, especially when Kevin had laid hands on her, but he had to admit that he was glad of her company now. If he was going to get drunk, then it was better not to do it alone.

He couldn't help but think back on Kevin's words. They had only reinforced what he felt about himself. Any absolution he had hoped he might get from seeing Tracy's parents had quickly evaporated with that first look. His friends were lost to him now, perhaps as they should be.

"Here you go, vodka and tonic," Christina placed the glass down on the table in front of him and sat down opposite.

"Cheers." He looked at her glass. "What are you drinking?"

"Coke."

"Brilliant."

"Well, I _am_ driving. You don't want me getting done, do you? Or perhaps you'd prefer we take the bus back?"

"Point taken." He drained half the glass in one go and then sat back. All he could think about was Tracy. All he could see every time he closed his eyes was Tracy. It was probably the first time in his life that his thoughts had been consumed by a woman in any way other than a romantic setting. It was no wonder he couldn't sleep. "She was a great girl, a great girl," he heard himself say. "Pretty…popular…I'll never understand why she did what she did."

"There were obviously things going on that nobody knew about. She clearly wasn't well."

"She was so independent though. When Jackie and Kevin said they were emigrating, she was adamant that she wasn't going with them, that she wanted to stay here, where her life was. Of course, she'd already met Palmer by that point." He shook his head. "She was the kind of girl that always made you think she didn't need anybody and yet she was completely enthralled with him."

"I suppose we all like to think we're grown up when we're teenagers, but sometimes we do things too quickly, get in over our heads."

He looked over at her. "You would have been married by the time you were Tracy's age."

"Yep."

"Young, very young."

"Very. But I'd moved in with Stewart and his folks when I was seventeen, so I suppose it was the next logical step. I didn't get on very well with my own parents back then. I was lucky that his agreed to take me in."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you get on with your own parents?" She looked away and shifted in her seat and he immediately regretted asking. Just because she had been privy to a part of his own life didn't mean he was entitled to be reciprocated. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"No, it's…" she paused and then sighed heavily. "It's not something I talk about much but, well, I suppose it's hardly a big secret around the nick. My dad was in and out of trouble a lot when I was growing up. He was always getting nicked and then there would be periods of time that he would be away 'working' when, in reality, he was inside."

"What sort of stuff was he into?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Thieving mostly, nothing heavy until the last time. He got involved with some shady characters that lived round our way, borrowed some money and needed to pay it back, with interest of course."

"Of course."

"Anyway, he got talked into taking part in an armed blag and got caught. The judge gave him a ten stretch. I was sixteen at the time."

"That must have been hard."

"It was." She nodded. "My mum took me to see him a few times, but I hated it. I told her I wasn't going back, and she kept on at me that family was important and that I had to stand by him. It became impossible for us to live together and that was when Stewart's mum said I could move in with them."

"And you decided to become a police officer?"

"I suppose so."

"I bet that went down well."

"I didn't really care at that point," she shrugged. "I thought I was all grown up; thought I didn't need my parents. Probably much like Tracy did."

He drained the rest of his glass and got to his feet. It was going to take more than one glass to make him feel better. "Fancy another?"

"Steady on Guv. This is full fat I'm drinking."

A smile crept across his face before he could stop it. "Well, I won't tell if you won't."

XXXX

She pulled the car to a halt outside the flat, but he felt almost incapable of getting out. It wasn't just the alcohol he had consumed, though he had lost track after the fourth or fifth glass, it was the weight of the emotion of the day. He felt it pressing down on him, sometimes to the point where he found it hard to draw breath. At one point, he had excused himself in order to go to the bathroom and had been in there so long, just contemplating everything that, when he had emerged, she had been waiting for him outside, concerned that he had taken a funny turn. "I'm sorry," he said finally.

"You've nothing to be sorry for."

"I didn't want it to come to that. Kevin and I that is. I didn't want you to have to see that or to have to get involved."

"I don't think any less of you if that's what's bothering you," she said. "And no-one at the nick needs to know anything about it. We went to a funeral, that's all. It's nobody's business what happened there."

He met her gaze, feeling grateful for her understanding and wondering, not for the first time that day, if he had misjudged her in so many ways. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I'm glad it was you," he said, taking off his seatbelt.

"Glad it was me what?"

"Who came with me today."

"Any of the others would have done the same."

"I know, but...I _am_ glad it was you." He held her gaze for a long moment and then, before he could stop himself, or think rationally about it, reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear. The very sensation of her skin against his caused a shiver to run through his body and he could tell that she had noticed. The flat would be cold and dark, as usual, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to spend another evening there alone. "Do you…want to come inside?"

She blinked rapidly. "I don't think that would be a very good idea, Guv."

He didn't think that any words could have made him feel worse than he already did, but he felt himself cringe inside. What was he thinking? She was married for heaven's sake and she certainly didn't seem like the sort of woman who would go over the side, especially not for her boss. Besides, she wasn't even his type. "No," he agreed finally. "Probably not. Thanks for the lift."

"You're welcome," she said, as he opened the car door. "Frank?" He turned back to look at her. "It really wasn't your fault."

He could hear what she was saying and knew it was the truth, but deep down he wasn't quite ready to forgive himself. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." He made his way up the path towards the door, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. Pushing it open, he turned to see her still watching him from the car and he raised his hand in a final farewell before stumbling, somewhat inelegantly, inside.

 **27** **th** **February**

Mindful of the fact that what was supposed to have been a couple of hours at a funeral had turned into an entire day of doing no work whatsoever, Christina arrived early at the station the next morning. Her in-tray had been full the previous morning and there were several jobs that she was already behind on. Imagining the CID office to be quiet, she had hoped for a few hours to get her head down and catch up and was therefore surprised when she came in to find Jim sat at his desk, typing furiously.

"You're in early," she commented, hanging up her jacket.

"Yeah well, I'm behind on my statements so I figured I'd come in and get some peace and quiet," he replied. "But it's unnerving being the only person here with him watching, so I'm glad you had the same idea."

"With who watching?"

"Burnside, who do you think?"

Turning towards his office, she was surprised to see Frank sat at his desk, head bent over his paperwork, giving no indication that he was aware either of them were there. "How long has he been here?"

"Well, I got in at seven and he was already here, so your guess is as good as mine," Jim replied. "How was the funeral?"

"Oh, it was fine."

"You didn't come back."

"No," she fought for a reasonable explanation. "It was a difficult day."

"I see."

Ignoring the unsubtle hint behind Jim's words, Christina made her way over to Frank's office and knocked on the door. Looking up, he met her gaze, but offered no sign that he wanted her company. Pushing open the door regardless, she stepped inside, keen to see if he was feeling any better. "You're not dead then," she quipped.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you know…"

"No, I don't know. You want to enlighten me?"

Taken aback by the harshness of his words, she stepped fully into his office and closed the door behind her. "I only meant…after yesterday…"

"I believe I already thanked you for accompanying me, but if you really need me to do it again…"

"No. I just…well…wanted to know that you were all right, that's all."

"I was, and am, absolutely fine. Now, given you spent the whole day yesterday skiving, haven't you got some work to be getting on with?"

There were a million reasons she could have ascribed to his tone, upset over Tracy's death and his encounter with her parents being the main one, but she found herself wondering if it had more to do with him showing her his own vulnerability which had, in turn, allowed her to show him hers. She had never really spoken about her relationship with her parents with anyone and yet the conversation had just seemed to drift that way so naturally. Perhaps it was no wonder that he had asked her in when she had taken him home. Perhaps, in another life, she might have gone.

"Look, there's no need to be embarrassed about anything that was said or done yesterday. I know…"

" _I'm_ not embarrassed about anything," he interrupted her harshly, his gaze piercing hers, almost daring her to say anything more. "But you will be if you don't get that in-tray emptied."

"Fine," she replied, her tone clipped. "Well, I suppose I better get started then."

"Yes, I suppose you better."

She held his gaze for a further moment, hoping to read something behind the apparent anger, but quickly realising her hopes were in vain, simply chose to close the door behind her and make her way back over to her desk.

"Looks like he's in a right mood," Jim observed as she sat down. "He certainly hasn't gotten any closure from the funeral."

"No," she replied, lifting the papers out of her tray and laying them down in front of her. "I guess not."


	11. Chapter 11

**9** **th** **May 1989**

It had been a fairly mundane sort of Monday as far as Frank was concerned. The team had assembled looking tired and somewhat hungover from the excesses of the weekend, clearly hoping that all they would need to do that day was sit at their desks and pretend to look busy. Well, he'd soon put a rocket up their arses. Jim and Mike had been dispatched to follow up on some house-to house enquiries from a burglary the other week, Tosh was down in the collator's office pulling together names for a possible supermarket job he'd had a sniff of from one of his snouts and Christina and Alistair were following up a lead on a possible car ringing scam on the manor. All in all, it had made for a peaceful afternoon for himself, a chance to catch up on his seemingly never-ending stream of paperwork and blissfully reminisce about his own weekend activities.

She had been a looker, that Fiona. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits…in a way, she had reminded him a bit of Julie when he had first met her, back in the day, before the rigours of matrimony had turned her into a grumpy cow who seemed to think that sex with her husband was a commodity to be bargained with depending on what mood she was in. Well, there had been no such demands from pretty little Fiona, none at all. She had been quite happy to accept his offers of drinks and flattering remarks until the point had been reached when a decision had required to be made as to what happened next. Fortunately, as far as he was concerned, she had made the right one and the evening had ended on a high note. A very high note. Her number carefully transcribed into his little black book, he had seen her on her way, filing her into the section of his conquests entitled 'ripe for a repeat performance.'

So, when the phone rang at around half past three, he was in a fairly good mood. "Burnside."

"Guv, it's Tony. There's a DI Billy Driscoll from the Vice Squad here to see you."

"Billy Driscoll? I haven't seen him in years. Send him up!" Putting the phone down, he got up from behind his desk and wandered out of his office into the corridor, just as a man around his own age jogged up the stairs to meet him. "Billy!"

"Frank, long time no see!" the other man said, extending his hand. "What's it been, three years? Four?"

"Closer to five I reckon," Frank replied, leading the way back into his office and gesturing for Billy to take a seat. "You're still in Vice then."

"Yeah, for my sins, literally," Billy replied. "You're doing all right for yourself."

"Well, I made DI, not before time."

"I always knew you would." He glanced around at the empty office behind them. "No troops in today then?"

"All out on enquiries. My lot like to keep busy. No point sitting around letting the grass grow under their feet. Villains to catch, crimes to solve, that sort of thing."

"You haven't changed much anyway," Billy laughed. "I bet you keep them on their toes."

"Well, it has been known. Anyway," Frank sat back in his chair. "What brings you to Sun Hill? Looking for a sideways move?"

"Sometimes I think it would be the best thing. My missus hates the hours I keep in this job. I think she'd love it if I got a position somewhere like this."

"How is Marilyn?"

"Oh, she's fine. We've got three kids now, so she spends most of her time running around after them. Two girls and a boy." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a picture.

"Nice family," Frank observed, before passing it back. "So?"

Billy paused and sat forwards in his chair. "I understand you've got Stewart Church's missus on your team."

It was Frank's turn to pause, thrown slightly by the other man's observation. "Yeah, I have as it goes. Do you know her?"

"No, but I know her old man. Arrogant git that he is. Thinks because he's a DS in the Drugs Squad that that makes him God's gift to the human race, not least the Met. I've had a few run ins with him over the years. No respect for rank."

"No," Frank mused, recalling the conversation he had had with Church after the Nelson arrest. "I've been on the receiving end of his attitude myself in the past. A jumped-up Sergeant that doesn't know his place."

"Going places though," Billy observed. "Word has it, he's tipped for great things."

"Well, good for him. I'm sure Christina would be pleased to see him rise through the ranks."

"Yeah…about her. I've heard good things."

"Really?" Frank raised his eyebrows, "From who?"

"I know a few people at Catford, her old nick. They speak very highly of her. One of the first women there to be selected for CID at such a young age. Kept a level head, even when her husband was doing his best to stymie her career."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, they were in CID there together at the beginning. Then he got promoted to DS and, well, let's just say I don't think professional and personal life mixed very well. She came into her own a bit more once he'd moved to the Squad apparently. They were sorry to lose her to Sun Hill when they did."

"I see…" Frank pictured Stewart in his head, the way he had spoken, not only to him, but to his own wife. It wasn't hard to see how the man could have made things difficult for her if he had really wanted to. "Well, this is all very interesting, Billy, but I still don't see what your interest is."

Billy sat back in his chair again. "I'm running an operation at the moment into one Rod Patterson, do you know him?" Frank shook his head. "He's a big noise in SoHo; runs a few clubs there. He's into all sorts, prostitution, pornography, you name it in the sex business, he's got a finger in it, if you pardon the expression. He's just opened a new club over in Hackney where he's running girls. Underage ones."

"Naughty boy."

"Indeed. Now, the problem we have is that we can't prove anything. None of the girls we suspect he's pimping out are willing to talk to us and anyone who works for him is either too loyal or too scared to say anything. Rumour has it, he's got some big, important guests coming to the club this weekend. People from abroad, lot of money, so the girls are going to be kept busy. What I need, is someone on the inside."

Frank paused, "You're telling me you want Christina to go undercover in this club?"

"Exactly."

"Posing as what, a hooker? I grant you she looks young for her age, but I reckon even the most undiscerning punter would be able to tell she was over the age of consent."

"No, of course not. I want her in there as a barmaid, eyes and ears open, possibly talking to some of the girls, getting what she can out of them…"

"Haven't you got your own people for this sort of thing?"

"Ordinarily, yes. But we've had some staffing issues of late and I'd prefer a new face, someone that Rod and his band of cronies won't recognise as having even the slightest sniff of police, let alone vice, about them. What do you say? You reckon she's up to the job?"

Frank paused again, weighing up the situation. He couldn't dispute the fact that Christina was a good officer, no doubt well able to handle such an assignment, but he also couldn't help but feel, for some reason, that it would be a mistake. "I don't know. I mean, yes, I reckon she could do it, but I question the wisdom of it."

Billy frowned, "Why?"

"She's never done any proper undercover work before, not like you're suggesting and, well, it sounds to me as though you only want her to do it because of her connection to Church." The other man looked away. "That _is_ the reason, isn't it?"

"Well, I won't deny that he'll probably feel a bit put out about the whole thing, given how highly he holds himself against her. I can't imagine he'll be too pleased to hear she's been picked for a job like this. I wouldn't be surprised if, deep down, he would hope it would all go pear shaped."

Frank shook his head, finding himself taken aback by Billy's depiction of what the Churchs' marriage was really like. What sort of husband _wouldn't_ be pleased to see his spouse do well and, particularly, would want to see her fail? Then he remembered what she had told him about Stewart's reaction to her failing the Sergeants exam and realised that he wasn't really taken aback at all. "I'll have to talk to my guvnor," he said finally.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less."

"And I'll have to talk to Christina too."

"Hopefully you can persuade her."

"I said _talk_ not _persuade._ I'm not going to have her forced into doing this for your own ends. It sounds like a dangerous operation and even if her husband wouldn't give a damn about it going wrong and her getting hurt, _I_ would." Billy raised his eyebrows. "Not like that. But she's on _my_ team and I don't want to be visiting her in hospital because I've allowed her to be swept away by you."

"Frank…" Billy spread his hands. "I'm not here to coerce anyone into anything. I just think that we could all benefit from this. I get a collar; you get shared glory of having been involved and she gets credit for a job well done. Won't do her any harm in the long run, surely?"

"No," he agreed. "I suppose not."

XXXX

Although the mechanics of the job had been laid out fairly clearly and succinctly by DI Driscoll, Christina couldn't help but feel as though she was swimming underwater taking it all in. When the call had come through from CAD that the DI wanted her back at the station straight away, she had been convinced she was in for a bollocking for something, though she hadn't been sure what. In the months since Tracy's funeral, Frank had appeared to go out of his way to either avoid her altogether, give her the worst tasks in the department or speak to her as though she was something he had brought in on his shoe. She knew the others had noticed too, in fact Jim had sat her down one day in the canteen and demanded to know if something had happened at the funeral that she wanted to tell him about. Of course, she had said nothing, not wanting to divulge any of the events that had taken place that day and had simply excused Frank's behaviour as nothing short of normal.

"Yeah, well it's not fair," Jim had replied. "It's harassment and you know it is. You need to do something about it before it gets worse."

She looked over at Frank, his gaze matching hers, and tried to read what was underneath his expression. He had said little while Driscoll had been laying out the details of what he expected her to do and she couldn't help but wonder what her boss's opinion on it all was. "What about my other cases?"

"Anything urgent can be redistributed amongst the others," Frank replied. "This job's only going to last a few days."

"And I have to start tonight?"

"Yes," Driscoll replied. "I need you in position and ingratiating yourself before the weekend. We've already got one of our team in deep undercover with Patterson. He's been there over a year and Patterson trusts him. He's told Patterson that he knows someone who would be ideal as a barmaid in the new club. That's you. You go along tonight to meet with him and Patterson, interview for the job and he'll persuade him to hire you. Easy as that."

"What if he doesn't hire me?"

"He will. I'm assuming you know how to pour a pint and mix spirits?"

She nodded, thinking back to days of old, "I worked in a pub for a while when I was Hendon."

"Good," Driscoll nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. "This is for you to buy yourself suitable attire. Short skirts, tight tops, you know what I mean. Patterson likes a lot of flesh on display. He'll be more likely to take a shine to you if you present yourself in the package he's expecting."

"Right," she took the envelope from him and then looked at Frank again. "Has Mr Conway ok'd this?"

"Reluctantly, but yes," Frank replied. "Though he wanted it made clear, to everyone, that if you feel under pressure or threatened or in danger at any point, you bail out. No questions asked."

"Well, _some_ questions might be asked," Driscoll said. "After all, you're a fairly experienced officer…"

" _No_ questions will be asked," Frank repeated, glaring at him before turning back to her. "Ok?"

She paused, once again trying to ascertain what he was really thinking, and once again coming up wanting. "Am I allowed to tell anyone about the operation?"

"Like who?" Driscoll asked.

"Well, my husband for one. If I'm going to be out all night for the next few days, then he's going to wonder why."

"Oh yes, of course," Driscoll smiled in a way that slightly unnerved her. "You'll have to tell him. We don't want him banging the door down here demanding to know where his wife is, do we? Right then…" he looked between her and Frank. "I've got a little bit of business to sort out before we get started, so, you get yourself down the high street to get some clothes and we'll reconvene back here around seven, sound fair?" She nodded. "Ideal."

There was silence in the room after he had left, and she opened the edge of the envelope to see a wad of notes tucked inside. "How much does he want me to buy and what quality? Maybe I should have asked him that."

"Get something decent," Frank replied, sitting back down behind his desk. "Patterson apparently likes to think of himself as being high class, so steer away from your knock offs down the market. Middle of the road, I'd say."

"You don't want to come with me, do you?" she quipped, feeling a sudden sense of isolation.

"What, shopping? No, I don't. Take Ackland or Martella with you if you need solidarity in the changing rooms." He paused, and when he next spoke, his tone was softer. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No?"

"No. You're not the only female officer in the Met. Driscoll could get anyone to do it if he wanted to."

"Thanks very much," she smiled ruefully, "there was me thinking I was special because he'd picked me."

"I didn't mean it like that. He picked you for a reason; because he knows you're a good copper, someone he can trust with this operation, but if you don't want to do it no-one, not Driscoll or me, is going to force you."

"I figured you'd be glad to be rid of me for a while Guv," she met his gaze again, wondering how far she should push how she felt about his attitude towards her. Sometimes she felt as though there really was no point, other times she couldn't help but think back on Jim's words and recognise that he did, in fact, have a point. If there was air that needed to be cleared, she would rather they did it sooner rather than later. "We haven't exactly been getting on of late."

"I didn't realise I needed to 'get on' with every member of CID."

"No, but I thought we did. Get on, that is."

He looked away and said nothing for a long moment. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he considered how to answer her and wondered what she really wanted him to say or do. An apology seemed too far beyond the realms of possibility but, an acknowledgement perhaps that he had taken things out on her that weren't deserved, might have been nice.

"I'll hardly be rid of you," he said finally. "Having one of my officers undercover in such a set up isn't something I'm likely to be able to push to the back of my mind now, is it? Besides, I didn't want to say this in front of Driscoll, but if anything goes wrong, anything at all, or if you even get the slightest hint that you've been rumbled, you get yourself to a phone and you call me, all right? Not Driscoll, me."

"But I'm going to be working through the night. It's hardly fair to you to…"

"You call me," he interrupted her, "day or night. Understood?"

It was the closest she knew she was going to get to anything from him and she couldn't help but feel a sense of…something…that he was concerned enough about her welfare to make himself the point of contact. Mind you, though, she knew he would probably do the same for any of them. "Understood."

"Right, get yourself kitted out down the high street and then tell hubby what you're going to be up to for the next few nights."

A feeling of dread suddenly washed over her at the prospect of telling Stewart about the job, Something told her that his reaction wouldn't be good, though not entirely for the reasons she might have hoped. "Yes Guv, I can't wait."

XXXX

"So, can I expect Christina back or not?" Alistair asked impatiently. "There's still loads of enquiries to be made on this car-ringing scam and I can't do them all on my own!"

"No, she won't be back, at least not to help you," Frank replied. "You can have Ted when he gets back from leave tomorrow and, if you're really struggling, I'll see if I can't get some uniform help."

"Well, where is she going?"

"Who?"

"Christina!"

"She's doing a job."

"What kind of job?"

"The kind of job where the details don't concern you, Alistair," Frank replied. "All you need to know is that she's not going to be around over the next few days. Only until the weekend, mind you, then we'll have her back amongst us properly."

"Oh well…" Alistair sighed, turning back to his desk, "at least there’ll be a break from the atmosphere at any rate."

Frank paused briefly and then followed him out into the main office, "What do you mean, _atmosphere_?"

"Oh, come on, Guv."

"Come on what?"

"You've been in a funny mood with her ever since she went to Tracy's funeral with you. Goodness only knows why, she hasn't done anything wrong as far as we can tell."

" _We_? You all been discussing it, have you?"

"Well, we can hardly fail to notice now, can we? I mean, we all work in the same office." The ringing of the phone on his desk distracted Alistair and he turned away to answer it. "DS Greig?"

Frank walked back into his office, closing the door behind him. Alistair always had been a mouthy one, ever since he had pitched up at Sun Hill declaring he was part of the Sun Hill band and might not be around that often. Well, he'd soon put him straight on that score. But he had a tendency to say what, irritatingly, many of the others were obviously thinking and it irked him somewhat that they had picked up on it. Sitting down at his desk, he let out a long breath knowing that, for once, they had him bang to rights.

There _had_ been an atmosphere between himself and Christina since the funeral and he also knew that he was the cause of it. It wasn't what had happened to Tracy herself or the scene at the church with Kevin…it was what had happened afterwards. Their conversation in the pub had flowed so naturally and she had seemed fairly comfortable confiding in him about her difficult relationship with her parents and the reasons why she and Stewart had tied the knot at such a young age. He'd felt sorry for her in a way, as if she was really saying, without actually saying it, that she had clung onto the first apparently steady person who had come along and that, because of that, she felt somehow obligated beyond that which she really wanted to be. Frustratingly, he couldn't really remember the in-depth content of the conversation, or whether she had actually come out and said anything meaningful about her marriage, due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he could certainly remember inviting her into his flat.

In the cold reality of the morning after, he had asked himself what had really been behind the request. Company in an otherwise cold and dark flat, yes. The chance to continue drinking with someone rather than alone, yes. Sex – he shifted slightly in his chair – well he probably wouldn't have said no if she had laid it on a plate. What man would, with any woman?

He picked up his pen and looked down at the forms in front of him, trying to concentrate on the essential paperwork in front of him, but finding his attention wandering within seconds. He knew he owed her a proper apology, but it wasn't really in his nature to admit he was wrong, especially not to women. Rationally, he knew that was partly the reason for the breakdown of his marriage; his inability to say sorry, for anything. If he couldn't say it to his own wife, he was hardly going to say it to a female officer under his command.

Besides, he reminded himself, he'd told her to contact him, any time, should anything go wrong on the job. If she couldn't see that that was his way of apologising, then that was her problem.


	12. Chapter 12

"Nice, very nice," Driscoll commented, looking her up and down. "Just the sort of thing that Patterson likes."

Christina tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her top and felt her cheeks redden slightly under his scrutiny. After wandering around the high street for an hour, she had finally selected some clothes that she thought might be appropriate for the job in hand and, upon finally returning to the station, had fled to the ladies toilet to try some of them on. Now, standing in a black leather miniskirt and tight black top in front of two senior male officers, she felt undeniably exposed. If only Stewart could see her at that moment. She wondered if he would be proud or affronted. Would he think she looked good, sexy even, or would he tell her to cover up? Strangely, she found that she wasn't entirely sure of the answer. He often seemed happy to show her off, to drape his arm around her in public and let everyone know that she was his. Other times, like when he had received his last commendation, he had asked her to cover up more.

She had tried to call him at his office, but Harry had somewhat gleefully told her that he was out on enquiries and could he take a message. Not wanting to divulge sensitive information to him, she had declined and, instead, rushed home to leave a hurried note explaining that she was doing some undercover work that night but that she would be back in the morning. She could only hope that he took the news well.

"Don't you think so, Frank?" Driscoll turned Frank. "Scrubs up well, doesn't she?"

"Not bad I suppose," Frank replied, and she briefly met his gaze only for him to look away. For some reason, she had expected more from him. Not in terms of genuine appreciation for how she looked, but rather some sort of cocky remark and, when it didn't come, bizarrely found herself slightly put out.

"Now, to recap…" Driscoll said. "When you get to the club, you'll be met by Ryan, that's our man on the inside. He's expecting you."

"How will he know who I am?"

"You give him your name, Tina."

"Tina?"

"That is a variant of your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yes but…" she paused, suddenly somewhat embarrassed to admit that she had assumed she would be given some complete form of new identity, a name that would make her feel more in character rather than just herself playing dress up. _Tina…_ well, it didn't really quite fit the bill.

"It's best to keep things as close to the truth as possible," Driscoll said, as though reading her mind. "It makes it easier that way than trying to remember a whole bunch of information if you get questioned. As I said, Ryan's expecting you. He'll introduce you to Patterson and then it's up to you to make sure you shine enough to get the job. If you _do_ get it, and you will, you'll start right away."

"Ok."

"Play it close to your chest, no heroics on the first night. Chat to the others, especially the girls if you get the chance, but don't make it look too obvious that you're fishing for information." She nodded. "I've got you a driver, one of our DCs, Ritchie Fairbanks. He's downstairs waiting in a cab. He'll drive you to and from the club every night just to make sure that you're not followed. Wednesday evening, we'll meet here again for an update. Other than that, and any other times I tell you to be here, you stay clear of the nick, understood?"

"Understood," she replied, glancing at Frank again. His jaw was clenched, and she couldn't help but think he looked less than pleased at Driscoll's obvious leadership and control of the situation.

"Good girl. Right then," Driscoll checked his watch. "No time like the present I suppose."

"Give us a second will you Billy," Frank said suddenly.

"We're on a timescale here Frank…"

"Two minutes."

Driscoll looked between them, seemingly none too pleased at the interruption, then nodded impatiently. "Two minutes then."

When he was gone, Frank turned to look at her again. "What did you tell Stewart?"

"Nothing, at least not in person. I couldn't get a hold of him, so I left a note at home."

"Saying what?"

"That I was doing an undercover job tonight, but I'd be back in the morning. Why? Shouldn't I have?"

"No, he needs to know these things. He _is_ your husband after all. Just remember that you can't give him any details, no matter how hard he plays the 'we're all in the same job' card."

"I know. I won't." There was a long moment of silence in which it looked as though he was about to say something else, then stopped himself. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied, looking her up and down. "Just don't get yourself in trouble. Dressed like that, any man might think you were ripe for the taking."

"Any man?" she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yes," he said, meeting her gaze again. "Any man."

"If that's a chat up line, I think you need to get a new one, Guv."

He smiled then, and gestured to the door, "Go on, get out…and Chris?"

"Yeah?" she turned back to look at him.

"Be careful."

She knew he would say it to anyone on the team going off to do such a job, but the fact that he would say it to _her_ in such a way that suggested he did actually care about what happened to her, made her feel as though, perhaps, the long months of being treated like shit were coming to an end. "I will Guv, I promise."

XXXX

It seemed easier said than done she couldn't help thinking to herself as the taxi drew up in front of the club. Ritchie had seemed all right when he picked her up, though a bit quiet. She had tried to engage him in conversation, but his answers had been somewhat monosyllabic, and she had eventually given up trying and concentrated instead on the passing scenery as they made their way into Hackney. Darkness had started to fall by the time they reached their destination, and she felt a shiver run through her as she made to open the door.

"I'll be waiting when you're done," Ritchie said.

"Ok, thanks."

"Good luck."

Stepping out of the taxi, she slammed the door behind her and turned to look at her new potential temporary place of work. A neon sign above the door proclaimed it to be _The Red Room,_ a name that conjured up all sorts of imagery in her mind. Red – the colour of danger; the colour of passion; red-light area…well she certainly looked and felt like a hooker if nothing else. She stepped forward to the heavy doors and pulled on one side, opening it easily. Immediately, a cloying scent of perfume and cigarette smoke hit her square in the face, making her eyes smart and she had to stop herself from rubbing them and ruining the makeup she had carefully applied in the station toilets. A man stepped forward towards her, tall, dark and well-built, not unattractive to her mind, and eyed her pointedly.

"Name?"

"Tina," she replied. "Tina…Lawson." In that split second, she realised that no surname had been discussed earlier. Using Lewis made it seem too close to home and Church was fairly unusual as to perhaps draw attention to her. Lawson seemed banal enough.

The man looked her up and down and then nodded. "I'm Ryan. Wait here."

She watched as he made his way over to the centre of the room where a man was sitting, smoking profusely, a young woman standing in front of him. Christina watched as the woman turned slowly in front of him, a look of apprehension crossing her face. She couldn't help but think that this woman, a genuine civilian looking for a job, would be well out of it if she herself succeeded the way it was assumed she would. Seconds later, the man clicked his fingers and pointed to the door, clearly dismissing the woman. She watched as Ryan bent and whispered something in his ear before gesturing to her to come over.

Taking a breath, she walked across the floor and stopped where indicated. Ryan stepped back slightly, and she found her gaze meeting that of the main man's, Rod Patterson. He looked to be about fifty, slightly overweight with saggy skin and heavy wrinkles around his eyes no doubt from excessive smoking. He was dressed in what looked to be an expensive suit, his shoes were highly polished, and she could see the looping chain of a gold pocket watch.

"So," he greeted her, "You're Tina."

"Yes."

"Ryan's told me a lot about you. He said I would be a fool not to hire you."

She glanced at Ryan again, at his impassive expression, and couldn't help but think that he was clearly good at his job. "Well, I guess that's a judgement for you to make, sir, isn't it?"

"Sir…" he chuckled. "I like that. Mr Patterson will do." He made a gesture with his hand for her to turn around and she did so slowly, mimicking the actions of her predecessor, acutely aware of his eyes on her, pausing again when she was once more facing him. "Come here." She took a step forward and then stopped. "A bit closer." She stepped forwards again and tried to remain as calm as she could as his eyes raked over her. Deep down, she wanted to run, wanted to bolt for the door and find her way home, back to safety and security, rather than be leered over by someone like Patterson. "Very nice," he said after a moment. "I take it you've worked a bar before."

"Yes."

"Good." He suddenly got to his feet and she found herself surprised by his height towering, as he did, over her. "Well, I'm not one to go against the advice of my most trusted employees," he moved closer to her placing a hand on her waist and running it down and around the curve of her bottom. "I reckon you'll do nicely, my darling. Very nicely indeed."

XXXX

It was almost midnight by the time Frank elected to leave the station. Ordinarily, he would have balked at staying so late for any reason, but the extra time had certainly given him the opportunity to catch up on all the parts of the job that took him away from the streets, took him away from nicking villains. Annual reviews were due soon and he had procrastinated for what seemed like hours over some of them, Ted's being the main one. Sometimes the other man's brilliance and dedication to the job blew him away, other times he seemed hell bent on throwing it all away instead. Eventually, he had written what he thought was fair, and filed it away to pass to Conway. Every so often, he had glanced at the phone on his desk, wondering if it was going to ring and what he would do if it did. No news appeared to be good news. If Christina hadn't managed to convince Patterson to hire her, she would no doubt have been back by this point, an angry Billy Driscoll in tow. The fact that she wasn't, spoke volumes.

He had to admit, she had looked good in the get up she had paraded in front of them. Enough flesh on show to titillate, yet enough still left to the imagination of the viewer. He couldn't help but think that if she dressed a little bit more like that on a day-to-day basis, it would certainly make the working day more enjoyable. Not that he wanted her to know that of course.

Clicking his light off, he lifted his jacket and headed for the stairs, offering good nights to those unlucky enough to be on the nightshift, before emerging out into the chilly night air. As he approached his car, a sense of weariness mixed with hunger washed over him and he was considering whether to grab a kebab on the way home, when he heard the sound of a car door slamming behind him and the hurried crunch of footsteps. Turning, he saw Stewart Church steaming towards him, his expression one of pure fury, and braced himself for the inevitable.

"Where is she?" Stewart demanded.

"Where's who?" he replied, feigning ignorance.

"Who the bloody hell do you think? My _wife_!" Stewart retorted, holding up a crumped piece of paper. "She left me this note, telling me she was doing undercover work tonight and would be back in the morning!"

"So?"

"So? Undercover work? Christina?" He snorted derisively in a way that pissed Frank off. "I'm guessing this is your doing!"

"It isn't, as it happens," Frank replied. "Though I did give her the go ahead." Stewart paused and frowned. "Your wife's been noticed."

"By whom?"

"I'm sure she'll tell you all about it when she gets back in the morning, at least within the bounds of operational security. I'm sure it won't come as any great surprise to learn that _I'm_ telling you nothing." He made to open the car door, only for Stewart to rush in front of him.

"She's _my_ wife!"

The other man's sense of propriety entitlement irritated him. "So you keep saying. She's also a police officer, and a damn good one at that, no matter what you might think."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me." The memory of the look on Christina's face when she had told him, without really telling him, that Stewart had seemed almost pleased by her failure to pass the sergeants exam almost made him say more than was strictly professional under the circumstances, but he caught himself in time. "She's doing a job for Vice, and that's all I'm saying."

"Vice?" Stewart looked at him incredulously. "Are you telling me that my wife's parading around some street corner pretending to be some kind of whore?"

"I told you, she'll tell you what she can in the morning. Now, would you mind letting me get into my car? I do have a home to go to, you know, as do you."

"I bet you _loved_ letting her go on such an operation. I bet you got a real kick out of looking at my wife dressed like a tart. Tell me something, Burnside, are you going home to think about her?"

Frank paused and stared at him, feeling almost slightly guilty that her husband had guessed that any such thoughts had passed through his mind that evening, only to be replaced by a sense of incredulous surprise that Stewart should think to mention such a thing to his own wife's senior officer. "No," he replied tightly. "And you'd do well to get out of here before you say something you'll regret, Sergeant. Like I said, your wife's a good officer and that's why she was chosen, no other reason."

"Don't make me laugh, Burnside. You don't think she's a good officer. If you did, you wouldn't treat her the way that you do. Oh yes," he nodded, "she might not say much but when she _does_ tell me things, none of them are particularly good. Like how she thought you had been getting on a bit better only for something to happen and you to start treating her like crap again. What _did_ happen? Did you make a pass at her and she turned you down? That sounds like your kind of style."

Frank knew the other man was reaching, drawing conclusions out of nothing, seemingly hellbent on sexualising something that wasn't sexual. Well, not really. And yet it hit a little bit too close to home that he was alluding something not a million miles from the truth. He would have liked nothing more than to punch Stewart's lights out, would gain great satisfaction from seeing him with a bloodied nose or split lip. But then, there was such a thing as professionalism, not to mention disciplinary committees. "Goodnight Sergeant." Climbing into the car, he pulled the door closed and quickly locked it, lest the other man take it upon himself to try and drag him out, something he wouldn't quite put past him.

"You better watch yourself, Burnside," Stewart said, through the closed window. "There's a name for men like you."

"Yeah," Frank muttered, turning on the engine and slamming the gearstick into reverse. "And there's a name for men like you too, pal."

XXXX

By the time the club closed at four am, Christina felt exhausted. Having worked a full day and now, almost a full night, the adrenaline that had originally been coursing through her body had started to wear off and she could barely keep her eyes open. Once she had been given a quick tour of the bar area, the club had opened for business and she had been kept so busy serving drinks that there had been little time to execute any part of her actual mission, namely speaking to the girls. She saw them at regular intervals, lounging in the corners, talking to men at the tables, disappearing into rooms upstairs…some of them looked almost painfully young. There was no way that their customers could have mistaken them for anything more than teenagers. The whole thing angered her, and yet she knew getting angry wasn't the point of being there.

"You've done well love," Patterson said, meandering over to the bar. "Ryan was right. I like how you kept things going, chatting to the customers and the like. It's all about giving them an experience, you know?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good, well then. Same time tomorrow night." Leaning over, he pushed some money down into her bra, the very sensation of his fingers against her skin making her want to vomit.

"Great, thanks." Coming around from behind the bar, she knew that she should try and take the opportunity to talk to some of the others as they all prepared to leave, but the reality of how tired she was made it almost impossible. With a quick wave in their direction, she headed for the door, gratified to see Ritchie waiting for her outside.

"How was it?" he asked, as she flopped into the backseat.

"Great," she murmured, trying to keep herself awake as he traversed the route to her home, taking so many twists and turns that she had no reasonable idea where she was until he pulled up outside. "Thanks" she said, climbing.

"I'll be here tomorrow at seven-thirty," he said.

She nodded her understanding and turned back to the house, sighing at the light she could see coming from the living room window. Any hope she might have had of sneaking inside and straight into bed were about to be dashed. Opening the front door, she immediately heard the sound of the radio being clicked off and seconds later Stewart appeared, framed in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest, his expression about as far removed from someone who was about to be supportive of what she was doing as it was possible to be.

"Right then," he said, his voice tight. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"


	13. Chapter 13

"I left you an explanation."

"Oh, you mean this?" he held up a piece of crumpled paper that she recognised as her note, hastily written and discarded on the kitchen table. "'Working undercover tonight. Back in the morning.' You call that an explanation?"

"Please Stewart…" she sighed, moving past him into the kitchen. "It's been a really long day and I'm shattered."

"You should have called me!"

"I did! I called your office and Harry said that you weren't there. I was hardly going to give _him_ chapter and verse about what I was doing, was I?"

"Then you should have waited for me!"

"What, phoned every hour on the off-chance you might be back? There wasn't time for that."

"Well, you should have made time. I'm your husband," he followed her. "I care about what happens to you. What do you think I thought when I read that?"

She shrugged. "That I was doing my job?"

"Anything could have happened to you! It's not fair to keep me in the dark like that!"

"Keeping you in the dark would have meant not leaving you any note at all and just not coming home. Besides, nine months ago you bit my head off when I called you to say I was working late one night. Who's to say you wouldn't have done the same thing this time around?" She filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, hoping he would give up and let her go to bed.

"So, what exactly _were_ you doing anyway?" he asked. "Not that I can't guess from what you're wearing."

She turned around to look at him. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Come on, you look like a slag."

Anger flared inside her, but she knew that it wasn't the right time or place to debate a woman's right to dress as she pleased. "You know I can't tell you anything about the job."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

"I see…" he looked her up and down. "Well, I suppose you don't really have to. I already know it's something for the Vice Squad."

She paused, "How do you know that?"

"It's not exactly hard to guess," he gestured to her. "But in any event, Burnside told me."

"Burnside? You…talked to Frank?"

"Oh, it's _Frank_ now, is it?" he sneered at her. "Of course I spoke to him. After I came home and found your pathetic excuse for a note, I went straight round to Sun Hill!"

She slammed the glass down onto the counter. "You did _what?_ "

"Ran into your boss in the carpark. He told me that you were working for the Vice Squad, that you were a good officer, that you'd been _noticed…_ slimy git. I told him, I told him that I bet he'd had his rocks off seeing you all dressed up like a tart."

"How dare you!" She exclaimed, stepping towards him. "You had absolutely _no right_ going to Sun Hill and even _less_ right speaking to my boss like that!"

"I had _every_ right!" he glared at her. "If something were to happen to you, if you hadn't come home tonight, who would have reported you missing, eh? Me!"

"If something had happened and I hadn't come home then everyone involved in the operation would have known about it! I can't believe you could be so arrogant as to…to…"

"To what? Show that I care? Let that arsehole boss of yours know that there's someone at home who cares about what happens to you? More than he's got for a start."

His faux level of concern irritated her. If she were a betting person, she would guess that mouthing off to Frank had been less about a concern for her safety and more about trying to prove some sort of point. She could only imagine what her boss had thought about it all. It was embarrassing, more than anything else. Nobody else in CID would have had their wife or girlfriend behave like that. "Well, thanks very much."

"Don't take that tone with me, Chris."

"I'll take any tone with you I bloody well like! I can't believe you did that! I can't believe you would be so…" she trailed off, unable to even find a word to adequately express how she felt. "I hope you know I'll be the talk of the steamie because of this!"

"He'll not say anything," Stewart waved his hand dismissively. "I told him that I knew about the way he treated you. Yeah…" he nodded. "Maybe it's time your glorious leader heard a few home truths. Like the fact that you're not going to allow him to treat you like shit."

She closed her eyes, feeling a pressure starting in her head. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm going to bed."

"Hang on," he took hold of her arm as she made to move past him. "We're not finished."

"Yes, we are," she replied, pulling out of his grip. "Thanks a lot, darling. Thanks a bloody lot." Luckily he made no move to follow her as she left the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs to bed. Standing in front of the mirror, scrubbing her face free of makeup, she couldn't help but replay her husband's words over in her head. If things had been bad before, they would be worse now. Frank wouldn't have taken kindly to being spoken to like that, not after what had happened before. If Stewart had been wanting to make things easier for her, he had failed miserably. "Except he didn't, did he?" she muttered to herself. "He didn't want to make things easier for you at all."

XXXX

"Guv, I really think you might be overreacting here."

"Overreacting?" Frank glared at Jim. "Overreacting? Well, I'm sorry Jim, but a woman shows up at the nick, shouting and bawling about how upset she is over you dumping her and causing a scene and you think I'm…overreacting?"

"Well…" Jim shifted uncomfortably in front of him.

"Explain to me how you think I _should_ be reacting."

"Not like this anyway,"

"I see."

"Oh, come on Guv. I bet you've dumped a few ladies in your time."

Frank raised his eyebrows, "Of course I have James, but I don't pick complete loonies to go out with for a start, nor do I dump them in a way that's going to ensure that they come to my workplace and embarrass me! Half the relief witnessed her behaviour! You think that's appropriately professional, do you?"

"No…"

"Right then. So, what are you going to do about it?"

Jim eyed him, "What do you think I should do about it?"

The naivety of the younger man sometimes astounded him. "Talk to her, for Christ's sake! Explain your reasoning to her calmly and with a bit of sensitivity and if that doesn't work, nick her!"

"But I already tried that! She won't listen to reason!"

"Well try again!" The phone on his desk suddenly rang and he reached for the receiver. "You're supposed to be a police officer. What if there had been members of the public there when she kicked off? It doesn't look good on any of us, does it? And Conway wants answers from _me_ about it. Burnside?"

"It's me."

The sound of her voice instantly drove Jim and his romantic predicaments from his mind. "Out!"

"But…"

"Out!" he snapped. Once the door had closed behind the other officer, he sat down behind his desk. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Where are you?"

"At home. I just woke up. I forgot how much working nights can play havoc with your system and it's only been one so far."

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was past four o'clock. "So, there's nothing wrong, nothing's happened?"

"No, not really."

"Not really? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means…" she paused. "It means that Stewart was waiting for me when I got home earlier. He's not too pleased about the operation and, well, he told me that he had spoken to you."

"Oh yeah, he did that all right."

She sighed heavily. "I wanted to apologise. He had no business talking to you the way he did. I'm sure he gave me the sanitised version but, well, I can imagine some of the things he might have said."

He toyed with saying nothing, then thought better of it. Perhaps she needed to know. "You mean about me apparently loving the idea of seeing you dressed like a tart and going home to think about you?" There was a momentary silence at the other end of the phone. "Forget it."

"I…wow I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't realise…"

"I said, forget it. So long as you're all right. How was it anyway?"

"Fine."

"What's he like, Patterson?"

"Creepy," she replied. "I saw some of the girls, but I didn't really get a chance to talk to any of them. For a brand-new club, it's a pretty popular place. I don't think I stopped serving all night." She paused. "Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry, for Stewart."

"What he does isn't down to you, we both know that."

"No, I suppose not." She paused again. "Well, I'd better go and grab something to eat and get ready for round two. Ritchie will be here to pick me up before I know it so…I'll see you tomorrow night, at the briefing?"

"Yeah, I'll be there. Can't have Driscoll thinking he's solely in charge."

"Ok then. Bye."

"Bye." He replaced the receiver and sat looking at it for a long moment, thinking about how much he'd like to shake Stewart Church until his teeth rattled. The fact that Christina felt she needed to apologise at all for her husband's actions irritated him more than he would have thought, not to mention the fact that he still had misgivings over Billy Driscoll's motives for using her at all. He couldn't help but wonder what Driscoll's connection with Stewart really was, beyond that of someone he considered to be an annoyance. It seemed quite a leap to go from being annoyed at someone to using their spouse for a potentially risky undercover job. He only hoped that, whatever the reason, it didn't end up with someone getting hurt.

XXXX

It was another busy night at the club and a good hour or so after she had started before Christina felt as though she had time to draw breath. Initially, she had thought it might be more of an exclusive place, limited clientele, quiet and select. On the contrary, it was, once moving, heaving with male bodies, mostly men in expensive suits with cash to flash about. As she served drinks and smiled prettily, she wondered how many of them had wives, girlfriends, even kids waiting at home for them. She wondered if any of them were police officers, or if Stewart had ever come to a place like this. It was a sobering thought, especially as she watched customer after customer disappear into the rooms at the back, accompanied by a young, apparently willing female.

"Everything all right?" Ryan asked, coming over to the bar and leaning it across it towards her.

"Yes, fine."

"Enjoying it?"

It seemed an odd question for one undercover officer to ask another, but she nodded and smiled. "I'm kept going anyway."

"Yes, you are," he smiled in return and then moved away as another flock of customers approached, looking for libation. As she watched him cross the room over to where Patterson was sitting, she couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to be deep undercover for so long. She wondered if Ryan had a family and if they had any idea where he was or what he was doing. It surely must have an effect on an officer's life and their personal relationships, not to mention the fear of what might happen if they were discovered.

"Hello…anyone home?" She was pulled back into the moment by a man on the other side of the bar waving money at her. "Can we order please?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, fixing him with a practiced winning smile. "What can I get for you?"

"A bottle of the best champagne please. We're celebrating."

"Coming right up." She turned and opened the fridge, lifting out one of the bottles and setting it onto the bar whilst she searched for an ice bucket. Moments later, as she was unwrapping the seal, she felt his eyes on her. "What's the occasion?" she asked casually.

"It's work related," he replied. "I just got a big promotion."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." He eyed her up and down. "I'm John. How long have you been here then?"

"Not long." She procured some glasses and placed them onto a tray before ringing up the sale and passing him his change. "Enjoy your evening."

"Can you bring it over for us?" he asked, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to leave the bar," she replied, well aware that his request was less about his own ability to carry the tray and more about what else he might see.

"That's a shame," he pouted slightly. "You're too pretty to be stuck behind a bar all night."

Ryan suddenly appeared alongside him, his gaze swivelling between them. "Problem?"

"No," she replied.

"I was just asking if this beautiful creature couldn't bring our drinks to the table, but she said she's not allowed to leave the bar."

Ryan glanced around, "I'm sure the others can manage for five minutes, Tina. Do as the gentleman asks."

"Oh…ok," she said, slightly taken aback. "Not a problem." Smiling again, she made her way around the side of the bar and lifted the tray, following the group of men as they made their way over to an available table. "There you are," she said, placing it down in front of them.

"Could you pour for us, darling?" John asked.

"Absolutely." Lifting the bottle, she poured four equal sized glasses and placed them down in front of each customer.

"Won't you join us?"

"Oh no, I can't. I'm sorry," she straightened up and stepped back. "Perhaps another time."

"Yes," he looked her up and down. "Perhaps."

As she made her way back over to the bar, she felt her heart hammering in her chest. It was one thing serving behind the bar, even taking drinks to the table was fine, but she couldn't help but think that the next step, joining someone for a drink, would only inevitably lead to a request for something that was not within her undercover remit. At least…she hoped it wasn't. Every so often, however, she found herself glancing in the direction of the table and, even though there were plenty of girls willing to join the customers in question, she still felt John's eyes upon her.

When it was time for a break, just before midnight, she made her way outside through the back door, having gleaned the previous evening that many of the girls went out there to smoke and that it was probably the best place to find out anything useful. There were three other girls already there, all dressed like herself, smoking and laughing together, looking for all the world as though they were happy to be there. She made her way over to join them, smiling as she did and hoping that they would accept her. "Hiya."

"Hi," one of them replied. "Smoke?"

"Oh, thanks." She accepted a cigarette and allowed the girl to light it for her, aware that it had been almost ten years since one had graced her lips. She hoped it wouldn't be obvious. Inhaling gently, she blew out almost immediately. "Busy night."

"Yeah," the girl replied, glancing at the others. "I'm Ruby."

"Tina."

"This is Debbie and Molly," Ruby said, gesturing to the others and Christina smiled at them in turn. "We used to work in one of the other clubs, then Mr Patterson brought us here." She paused. "I don't recognise you though."

"No, I'm new. I only started yesterday."

"So, you haven't worked for Mr Patterson before then?"

"No." she dragged on the cigarette again. "Have you worked for him long?"

"A bit. How old are you?"

She opened her mouth to lie, then realised that there was probably little point. "Twenty-eight." The girls snickered. "What's funny about that?"

"You're a bit old," Debbie said.

"Well, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

The word came out so easily and yet it was clearly a lie. The others nodded their agreement and Christina found herself nodding along. "So, how long have you all worked for Mr Patterson then?"

"A while," Ruby replied. "We used to be over in Peckham." She paused. "Saw you talking to Ryan earlier."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You want to watch him. He's bad news."

Christina paused, "How do you mean?"

The back door opened once more and some other girls made their way out, causing Ruby to drop her cigarette on the ground and stub it out with her shoe. "Never mind. Let's go girls."

Before Christina could ask anything more, the three of them had disappeared back inside. For appearance sake, she finished the cigarette and then ventured back through the door, coming face to face with Ryan as she did so. "Oh, hi."

"You finished your break?" he asked, with no sign given that they were in any way affiliated.

"Yeah, I was just heading back."

"Good," he said. "Make sure you do."

"Yes sir," she muttered under her breath. Once back in the bar, she quickly fell back into the rigours of serving only for, moments later, John to reappear in front of her.

"Another bottle of champagne Tina darling," he said, peeling off some notes from the wad retrieved from his pocket. "And one for yourself."

"That's very kind, thank you," she replied. "I'll have one at the end of my shift."

"I do wish you'd come and sit with us," he lamented. "The other girls do."

"We have defined roles. I'm strictly drinks." It wasn't completely true she thought, after the words had left her mouth. Her job there had never really been properly defined, but there had certainly been no mention of her requiring to do anything extra.

"That's a shame," he said, "I like you."

"I like you too," she lied, handing him his change, gasping slightly as he caught her hand in his and kissed it.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, smiling at her. "Very glad to hear it."

XXXX

"Don't you have a home to go to?" Tosh asked, sticking his head around Frank's door. "It's past ten."

"I've got paperwork to finish," Frank replied. "Perk of being a DI I suppose."

"Well, if you will aspire to greatness," Tosh chuckled. "I doubt my Muriel would be happy though if it were me here late every night."

"Your Muriel's not happy about much, is she?" Frank looked up. "Besides, I would have thought with five kids to feed, she might be grateful for the extra money the privilege of rank would provide."

"You know me Guv, I'm happy where I am."

"Yeah…" he couldn't help but somewhat envy the other man for that. A happy marriage, kids, a home, even if they did seem to live hand to mouth most of the time. At least it was something. Someone to go home to at night. "Are you in court tomorrow?"

Tosh nodded, "All day I would imagine."

"Great, so I'm left with Ted, Jim and Alastair and a pile of investigations a foot high."

"Well, I'll be back on Thursday and I thought this was only a short-term job Chris was on."

"It is."

"Well then."

"Funny not having her around the place," he said, sitting back in his chair. "I suppose I've kind of got used to her annoying me."

Tosh paused, "It's only been two days."

Frank sat forwards again, conscious that the other man might read more into his comment than he intended him too. "Yeah well…I suppose that just goes to show how annoying she really is and how much you notice it when it's not there. Anyway, I'll see you on Thursday."

"Goodnight Guv," Tosh said, turning for the door. "For what it's worth, I reckon she'll be missing us too."

"Living it up undercover?" Frank scoffed. "No chance. She'll be having the time of her life."


	14. Chapter 14

She had thought about it since leaving the club that night and being driven home, whilst she got ready for bed and once she had lain down next to Stewart, who was clearly ignoring her. She'd thought that she might not be able to sleep at all for it going round and round in her head, but the exhaustion of the task quickly overtook her, and it was after lunch by the time she awoke. It still ran through her head as she showered, made herself something to eat and sat in the quiet of the kitchen contemplating not only the night ahead, but the briefing at the station beforehand. Driscoll would most likely want to know what progress she had made and whilst the truth was, little, she was more concerned about how else she was feeling and how she might tactfully bring it up. Though she knew she couldn't speak to him about it, she almost wished Stewart had been there, simply for her to suggest a hypothetic situation to and see how he would respond. But, given his current attitude, she wasn't even sure he would be of any help.

She pottered around for the rest of the day doing meaningless tasks around the house before slipping into her, by now, familiar attire and waiting for Ritchie. As she watched out of the window, she couldn't help but wonder what the neighbours would think if they saw her going out dressed as she was, despite the long coat. Most of them knew that she and Stewart were police officers and she wondered if they had any concept of the fact that either of them might, at some point, be required to do undercover work.

Ritchie was early, given the detour to the station, and as she went inside and hurried up the stairs to the CID office, she hoped that she would be there before Driscoll aware that, if she was, she could share her suspicions with someone she trusted more than she trusted him. Someone like Frank. Unfortunately, she wasn't to be rewarded, finding Driscoll already ensconced in Frank's office, a broad smile lighting up his face when he saw her.

"Well, if it isn't our little mole," he greeted her. "How are you, darling?"

The word set her teeth on edge, but she simply smiled, closing the door behind her. "Fine sir. Where's DI Burnside?"

"Oh, he just nipped out for a minute to speak to your guvnor. I said I'd keep an eye out for you." He looked her up and down. "Becoming second nature yet?"

"What?"

"Dressing like a slag."

It was the same word Stewart had used and she fought down the urge to bite back, moving past him to stand at the far wall facing the door. "I'm not complaining."

"No, I can see that." He got to his feet and stepped towards her. "I imagine you've made quite the impression on our Mr Patterson." His eyes flickered over her face. "How has your old man taken to you being undercover?"

"Oh, uh, well…" she found herself stepping back. "He's…he's fine about it, if a little annoyed I can't give him all the details."

"Really? I can't say I'd be too pleased at _my_ wife going out looking like you and being leered at by a bunch of sleazy blokes every night." He was crowding her space now, her back pressed against the wall and she glanced quickly through the window into the main office, dismayed to find it empty. Her brain was yelling at her to ask him to move back, push him, kick him, anything to let him know she didn't appreciate how close to her he was standing. And yet, he was a senior officer one that, despite everything, part of her still wanted to impress. Perhaps it was all part of the job. "Or…maybe he gets off on it."

"I…" The sound of the door opening caused Driscoll to suddenly step back and, over his shoulder to her relief, she saw Frank watching them. "Guv."

"Everything all right?" he asked, his tone measured, his gaze moving between them.

"Fine," Driscoll replied. "Christina was just about to tell us how things have been going." He sat back down in the chair opposite Frank's desk and grinned up at her, "Weren't you, love?"

"Yes…" she stepped away from the wall, "well…I spoke to some of the girls last night and they all claimed to be eighteen, but it's clear they're not. Anyone could tell that just by looking at them."

"Did you get a look at any identification? Passports or the like?"

"No."

Driscoll's brows knitted. "Why not? Surely that would be the optimum evidence? I take it there is somewhere the whores keep their coats and bags?"

"Well yes, in the main office, but I'm hardly ever away from the bar. I only managed to talk to the girls last night on a quick break." She paused on his look of annoyance and realised she was coming up short. "I can try to have a look tonight."

"Try hard," he replied. "I heard you were a good officer. Someone with initiative. That's why I chose you for this job. Not so as you can stand around, sticking your tits in men's' faces and pocketing cash on the side."

"That is _not_ what I'm doing!" she retorted angrily. "But I'm _trying_ not to make myself look suspicious. These girls don't know me, don't trust me and I'm just in the door. I don't want to be seen to be asking too many questions or acting strangely, no matter how desperate you might be for information."

"Don't answer me back girl," Driscoll replied, pointing at her. "Better than you have tried it and come off worse."

"That's enough," Frank interjected. "Remember you're talking to one of _my_ officers, Billy."

"Well, you want to teach her some manners then, Frank, don't you?" he got to his feet and straightened his jacket. "I want results here, darling, and I want them quickly. I want to be able to nick Patterson and his rich cronies this weekend with hard evidence that he's running underage girls and they're shagging them. That shouldn't be too difficult, should it?"

She opened her mouth, poised to divulge what she was thinking, when she saw Frank shake his head imperceptibly out of the corner of her eye, and closed it again. "Yes sir."

"Good. I'll see you back here Friday then. Don't let me down, darling. I'm counting on you. Frank." With that, Driscoll swept out of the office, banging the door behind him.

"Dickhead," she said before she could stop herself, Frank's eyebrows raising in surprise. "I'm sorry Guv, but he is. He should be less concerned about a job I've been doing for all of two days and more concerned about the job _his_ man's been doing for the last year."

"How do you mean?"

"There's something about that Ryan bloke," she shook his head. "The girls warned me off him, said that he was bad news, someone to watch out for. I don't like the way he looks at me, not in a sexual way but just…I don't know…"

"You think he's gone over the side?"

"Well, he's been there all this time and he hasn't been able to get anything to help Driscoll nail Patterson? If it was as easy as looking at some identification, why hasn't he done that long before now? Why does he need me in there doing it? I don't know, there's just something…off about him." She sat down in the recently vacated chair. "Sorry, I shouldn't have called Driscoll a dickhead."

"Don't worry about it, you were only speaking the truth." He sat back in his chair and regarded her steadily. "Do you think the girls might open up to you more? Give you some inside information on Ryan?"

"I don't know. They already think I'm old enough to be their granny. Besides, I'm not there to dig up dirt on Ryan, am I?"

"No, I suppose not." He looked at her again, and she could tell what he was saying, without really saying it. "Are you all right to go back?"

"Yes."

"It's all right if you're not. If you've got a bad feeling about the place or you're worried about your safety, say something now. I told you before there would be no comeback."

"Thanks," she smiled gratefully. "But I want to see it through if I can. It's only until the weekend and if all he really wants is some identification, then I should be able to do that." She shook her head. "I suppose I should have thought about going through the girls' bags rather than him having to suggest it to me. I guess I'm not really doing as well on this job as I would have hoped." She waited for him to make some kind of cutting remark but, when it didn't come, she looked up again to find him watching her.

"You're doing fine," he replied after a long moment. "You think it's easy being undercover? I know it isn't. Even something like this. It's never easy. Especially if you feel as though you've got no support. From any quarter." She looked away, thinking on the irritation and indifference embedded in her own home at the present time. "But you _do_ have support, all right? You've got everyone in this nick behind you, if needed. You've got me." Looking up once more, she met his gaze. " _I'm_ your guvnor. The only person you need to be concerned about impressing on a day-to-day basis is _me,_ not Driscoll and not your husband, understand?"

She nodded, feeling a sudden lump come into her throat and tears smart her eyes. _Shit…shit…shit…_ the last thing she wanted was to give him the impression that she was upset over something as innocuous as playing the role of a barmaid. Christ, it wasn't as if she was being asked to spread her legs, was it? But it was the fact that he had homed in on what was really bothering her, namely the lack of support in so many ways from the one person who was meant to give it unconditionally and the fact that it was abundantly clear he was less concerned about her safety and more concerned about her being seen as in any way superior to himself. Getting to her feet, she turned to look out into the empty office, swallowing hard and willing her eyes to dry quickly.

"You all right?"

"Yes," she replied, eventually turning back to face him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Right then, off you go, and remember…"

"I can always call you," she finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Thanks Guv."

"You're welcome."

She left then, closing the door behind her, and made her way down the stairs and outside to where Ritchie was waiting wondering, not for the first time, how things could have been so very different.

XXXX

He knew she had been upset, it had been obvious in her whole demeanour, not to mention the slight reddening of her eyes when she had last looked at him before leaving to go to the club. He also knew that it had little to do with Billy Driscoll and everything to do with her husband, git that he was. By rights, he knew he shouldn't care so much. What happened in her marriage was her own business, not something that should be affecting her work. But in some ways, given that she was the only woman in CID, he felt as though his duty of care was bigger, more important, than it would be towards anyone else, whether that was appropriate or not.

"What's the matter with you? You've been miles away ever since we started this conversation, and it was _you_ who started it. I told you I wanted to get away, not spend my evening talking about an investigation into a car-ringing scam that's going nowhere."

Ted's voice jolted him back to reality and he looked up to meet the other man's gaze. "I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind right now, that's all."

"Is it something to do with Christina and whatever mysterious job she's doing?" He tried to arrange his expression into one that screamed 'of course not, don't be stupid' but it was easier said than done and the other man nodded knowingly. "I thought as much."

"Well, I'm obviously concerned about her."

"Because you don't have any control over what she's doing or…?" Ted raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Or what?" Frank looked at him.

"Nothing."

"She's a WDC under my command. If I _wasn't_ concerned about her being undercover, there would be something wrong."

"She's also a good-looking woman who left here dressed in very little. Enough to turn any man's head."

"If you say so."

"What's she doing anyway?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"I won't tell anyone, you know that."

"Oh yeah, you and your big mouth, Ted, don't give us it."

"Not when it comes to something like this. Not when a fellow officer is putting herself on the line," the other man looked at him indignantly. "You _know_ me, Frank."

Frank paused for a moment. Driscoll would probably have his head for sharing the information, but he found himself disinclined to care. "She's working undercover for Vice at a club in Hackney."

"What club?"

"The Red Club. She…"

Ted's expression suddenly changed, and he straightened up in his chair. "Not Rod Patterson's place?"

"Yeah," Frank looked at him. "You know him?"

"Not personally, but I've got a few mates over that way. He's a bad bloke, Frank, a _very_ bad bloke. What the hell is she doing working undercover for him?"

"Vice say that he runs underage girls out of his clubs."

"Yeah, and the rest."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't just run them, he hurts them, sometimes kills them…allegedly."

Frank stared at him, "What?"

"The way I hear it, there's been a number of girls who have worked for him over the years that have ended up beaten, raped, mutilated…only they're all too scared to press charges. Not to mention the fact that he's AMIP's prime suspect in the murder of at least three girls dating back to 1985, not that they've been able to find any hard evidence to prove it." Ted paused. "Who's the SIO on this?"

"Billy Driscoll. We worked together a few years ago."

"And he didn't tell you any of this?"

"No," Frank replied angrily, reaching for the phone, "no he bloody well didn't." Punching in the number Driscoll had left him, he waited, only to be confronted by the endless ringing of the phone at the other end. "Doesn't anyone answer the bloody phone over there?!"

"Can you pull her out?" Ted asked, as he replaced the receiver. "Frank?"

"I'm thinking."

"She could be in real danger, especially if Patterson twigs who she is. I doubt he'd have any compunction at all in doing away with a female officer."

The memory of what Christina had said earlier came flooding back to him, the suspicion she had about Driscoll's man, Ryan. If he _was_ playing the two-headed spy, then he was perfectly placed to sabotage the whole operation, not to mention the fact that Driscoll had been so keen to use her…

"What?" Ted asked, staring at him. "What is it?"

He got to his feet, decisive action striking him before sense could. "Get your wallet. You and I are going for a few drinks."

XXXX

She had tried twice to make an excuse to go to the office on a quest to find out information, only to be thwarted on each occasion by how busy the club was. Ryan stood like a bouncer at the far end of the bar, his gaze constantly on her, making it even more difficult for her to try and arrange to sneak away and when she had taken a break to go to the bathroom, he had been hanging around outside when she emerged. If she hadn't known that he was one of her own, she would have thought he was suspicious of her, but his behaviour continued to unnerve her.

It didn't help that John, the overfriendly customer from the night before, had also returned to the club and chosen a table directly in her eyeline. Every time she glanced up, he appeared to be watching her and it was making her supremely self-conscious. At one point, he gestured to Ryan and appeared to be discussing her with him, their gazes continually moving over her, to the point where she was starting to feel slightly nauseous.

As she was finishing serving another customer, she became aware of a shadow falling over her and, looking up, came face to face with Ryan. He leaned across the bar towards her, his expression serious, his eyes dark in the dim light. "You all right?"

"Fine," she replied as brightly as she could. "Bit of a headache, that's all."

"Hmmm…." he regarded her carefully. "You need a break?"

"I'm not due one yet."

"Maybe you should take some time out, sit in the office for a bit, get a breather."

She met his gaze, her mind working overtime. Did he know what she was supposed to do? Had Driscoll briefed him that she was meant to get into the office and look for identification and, if so, was this his way of subtly giving her the excuse to do so? "I…"

"Any chance of some service here, darling?"

The sound of a familiar voice broke into her thoughts and as she looked down the bar saw to her astonishment, Frank and Ted standing watching her. For a moment she simply gaped at them before turning back to face Ryan. "I should maybe serve them first, then take my break?"

"All right," he shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. I'll be back." Seemingly without a hint of suspicion, he turned and disappeared into the throng of customers leaving her to decide how best to deal with what was in front of her.

"What can I get you?" she asked pleasantly, coming to stand in front of them.

"Vodka tonic and a large scotch please love," Frank replied.

"Coming up," she nodded, turning to retrieve glasses and ice. "I…haven't seen you in here before."

"No, first time. I'm Frank and this is Ted."

She almost found herself laughing at the absurdity of the exchange but managed to catch herself in time. "Tina," she said, placing the glasses on the bar. "What do you think of the place?"

"Very nice," Frank replied.

"Lots of nice things to look at," Ted chimed in. "Have you worked here long?"

"No, just this week. We've only just opened."

"We'll have to add it to our list of regular haunts, won't we Ted? Especially if all the girls here are as pretty as you, darling." She paused and looked at him, searching for ridicule, malice or even anger in his expression, but finding nothing. "Busy place." She finished pouring the drinks and took the money from him. "Have one for yourself."

"Thanks, I'll have one at the end of my shift. Do you…?" she broke off suddenly as John approached the bar and leaned across it towards her. "A bottle of champagne please darling, and two glasses." He glanced briefly at the other two men. "I hope these two aren't bothering you."

"No, not at all," she replied, turning to the fridge to retrieve a bottle. As she placed it back on the bar and started unwinding the paper surround, Ryan came around the bar and moved closely into her.

"I reckon it's about time you took that break now, Tina, don't you?"


	15. Chapter 15

To her surprise, when she stepped into the office, Patterson was sat behind his desk, smoking a cigarette, a languid smile spreading over his face when he saw her. "Hello Tina darling," he greeted her. "How are you getting on then?"

"Oh, fine," she replied, her gaze flitting to the pegs in the far corner where all the girls, herself included, hung their coats and bags at the start of the evening. If she was meant to get a look inside for any identification, she was going to have a hard time doing it whilst he was sat there. "I've got a bit of a headache and Ryan said I should take a break."

"He's a very nice bloke is Ryan," Patterson said, nodding to where the man in question was standing at her back. "Very caring towards all the girls. But…I was hoping that you would, in fact, do me a little favour Tina."

"A favour?"

"Mmmm…" he sat forwards and stubbed out his cigarette into the ashtray. "There's a bloke out there who's taken quite a shine to you."

"Really?"

"You mean you haven't noticed? He was here last night, here again tonight, buying bottles of champagne and asking for two glasses…" he shook his head. "Come on sweetheart, you can't be as naïve as all that."

"Oh, him," she said, nodding. "Yeah, I know who you mean. He seems a nice guy."

"I knew you'd agree. Good judge of character this one, Ryan." She heard Ryan snicker slightly behind her and, for the first time, felt a chill start to creep through her. "You see darling, we want to encourage nice men to come here, men who are nice to our girls, treat them properly. You understand what I mean, right?"

"Well…"

"What I mean is, I'm not in the business of allowing my customers to get rough with my girls. It's much better for business, and for everyone all round, if it's all mutually convenient, agreeable and pleasant, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Good. Now, I know I hired you as a barmaid but, well, when a customer, especially one as nice as the man I'm referring to, shows an interest in one of my girls…I'm hardly likely to turn him away now am I? I mean, that wouldn't be good for business or my reputation now, would it?" The chill started to creep further up her back, and, in a horrible moment, she suddenly realised where he was taking the conversation. "I mean, I wouldn't want him to go elsewhere and talk trash about my place now, would I?"

"I…"

"I'm glad you see it from my point of view, Tina," he grinned at her. "As soon as Ryan came and told me what the customer had asked for, I knew that you wouldn't let me down. Ryan would never have suggested you for the job if he hadn't known you to be the willing type."

Turning, she met Ryan's gaze in the dim light and felt her heart start to pound in her chest. He was supposed to be one of her own, a copper, undercover like her trying to bring Patterson down but, instead, he was going as far as suggesting that she prostitute herself.

"I'm not a prostitute," she said, turning back to look at Patterson.

"What a word!" he exclaimed. "I prefer to refer to my girls as facilitators. Men come here in need of something, and my girls facilitate that. I find it's a more palatable way of looking at it."

"I'm not a _facilitator_ either," she said, her tone sharper than she had intended. His brow furrowed and she found herself trying to back pedal. "What I mean is, I'm not really comfortable with…that sort of thing."

"Not a _virgin,_ are you?" Patterson sneered, and he and Ryan started to laugh. "I have to say, I would doubt it. I would doubt it very much."

"Look, I…" she paused, her brain whirring as she tried to think of the best thing to say, anything that could get her out of the predicament she could quickly see herself falling into. It was no longer about trying to find some identification and everything about preventing herself ending up on her back. "I'm not feeling well, like I said and, well, I doubt I could give him the experience that he truly deserves."

Patterson shrugged. "I've found that the best girls are the ones that can make a man feel like he's the only thing on her mind, even if she's sick as a dog. I'm pretty sure you're up there with the best of them Tina. I'm sure you'll give our man an experience to remember."

"No, but…" she gasped suddenly as Ryan took hold of her upper arm and squeezed it painfully. "What are you doing? You're hurting me!"

"I'll do a damn sight more to you if you don't do as you're told," he replied menacingly. "I doubt your man out there really cares whether you suck him off through a split lip or not and when you're on your back, it won't be your face he'll be interested in." Before she could say anything more, he dragged her across to the back of the office and out through the other door that led to the backstair to the second floor.

"Stop it! Stop!" she said, struggling against him as he pushed her against the iron bannister and leaned his face closely into hers. His eyes were dark, his breath smelled of alcohol and smoke and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he pressed his lips hard against hers, trying to force her mouth open to accept his tongue. Twisting her head, she pushed him away from her, only for him to come back and press his whole body against hers.

"Maybe once he's had you, I'll have a go," he said menacingly. "I bet that would make Stewart really mad, wouldn't it?"

"Stewart…" her husband's name brought her up short. "I don't…what are you talking about?"

He started laughing, his face inches from her own. "Let's just say, it's payback time."

"Payback for what?" He grabbed hold of her arm again and started pulling her up the stairs. "No, let go of me!"

"Oh, I see, maybe you'd prefer a little warm up before the main act, is that it?" He pressed against her again, one hand gripping her arm painfully whilst the other found its way under her skirt and up to the juncture of her thighs. "Maybe I should get my end in first!" he pulled roughly at the flimsy material of her knickers as she thrashed wildly against him. "You know, this will probably go a lot better if you just let it happen!"

"Get off me!" With as much strength as she could muster, she pushed against him, creating enough distance between them to allow her knee to rise up and strike him, hard, in the groin. He yelped in pain and loosened his grip, allowing her to twist away from him and start back down the stairs. Fear coursed through her as she ran as fast as she could, terrified that she would trip over her heels and fall to the ground. Retreating the way they had come, she threw open the door that led back into Patterson's office, clearly startling him in the process, and made a run for the opposite door, only to feel someone grab her hair from behind and pull her roughly backwards.

"You little bitch!" Ryan shouted at her, throwing her against the far wall.

"What the hell's going on?!" Patterson demanded.

She righted herself and turned to face them, no longer caring what undercover rule she might break or how she could end up throwing the whole operation into chaos. "I'm a police officer!" she exclaimed, "and so is he!"

If she expected Patterson to be surprised at either revelation, she was left wanting. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrows at her. "You think I don't know that darling?"

XXXX

Frank drained his glass and put it back down, glancing over at the man who had bought the champagne and who was now standing, leaning against the bar, a small smile on his face. He looked like a slimy, oily git, just the sort of person who would frequent a place like this. "You look pleased with yourself."

"I suppose I am," the man replied, "I reckon I'll be her first go."

"First go?"

The man smiled and stepped forward, holding out his hand. "I'm John."

"Frank, this is Ted."

"Nice to meet you both. You been to one of those clubs before?"

"No," Frank replied. "You?"

"Oh yeah. I've been to all Mr Patterson's establishments. I guess you could call me a frequent flyer." He laughed at his own joke. "He runs good places. Clean, safe, welcoming, know what I mean?"

Frank exchanged glances with Ted, "I think we do, don't we Ted?"

"Oh definitely. But what did you mean by being 'her first go?'"

"Come on lads," John laughed. "Nothing beats being the first one to break the seal of a new girl, especially one that looks like her. I've got a bit of a thing for redheads if I'm honest. I like finding out if the collars and cuffs match, if you follow my drift."

"Oh, I see," Frank said. "So, there's _entertainment_ provided, if you want that sort of thing?"

"On tap, my son, on tap. Nice variety of girls too, depending on where you go. Young, old, fat, thin…you name it, Mr Patterson can provide it."

"How young?" Ted asked.

"How young do you like them?"

"How young do _you_ like them?"

"Well…" John glanced around. "Let's just say that I like ankle socks and bunches. Long as they've got an idea what they're doing, I'm happy. And I like to think I teach them a few things, make them better for the next punter."

"How very generous of you," Frank said, feeling bile rise in his throat. "The redhead, Tina."

"What about her?"

"Well, she seems a bit old for you, given your tastes."

"Well, every so often I _am_ partial to someone with a little bit more experience. I had a good look at her, and I reckon she'll be a real goer once she gets into it. I have been told that I have magic hands." He wriggled them for emphasis. "I doubt she'll be disappointed."

"If I wanted a bit of tail," Frank said, "how would I go about getting it?"

"Bloke that was here a minute ago, he's your man," John replied. "He facilitates things. Pairs you up with whoever he reckons would best cater for your needs. I tell you what, once I've had this one, I'll come back out and give you boys a report, how about that?"

XXXX

Christina glanced between the two men in front of her, wondering why the revelation of Patterson's knowledge should come as any kind of surprise to her.

"You think I didn't know who you were the moment you walked through that door?" he said. "What would be the point on having a man on the inside if it didn't give me an advantage."

She looked at Ryan, at the hardness of his expression and the darkness of his eyes. "So, this was a set-up?"

"Clever girl."

"Why?"

"Why?" he looked at her as though she was simple. "Why do you think? Do you really think that we were going to let your husband get away with doing what he did? Do you really think we were just going to take it lying down?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about! What does my husband have to do with any of this?"

"I don't think she knows, Ryan," Patterson sighed, sitting down behind his desk.

"She doesn't have to know about any of that." He tutted. "All you had to do was get on your back, sweetheart. All you had to do was show us what a good little copper you are, someone who doesn't want to ruin such a big operation, someone who would be willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good."

She swallowed hard, "So, this was all about getting me to…to have sex with some random bloke? You thought I would do that rather than jeopardise DI Driscoll's operation?"

"Wouldn't you? Don't say that it never crossed your mind." He moved closer to her again. "What a thrill for everyone. The punter, you, me…the thought of telling your husband that his wife was so dedicated to her job that she let another man put his dick inside her…" he laughed. "I suppose it's a shame that can't happen now." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a knife, the blade glinting in the dim light.

"Not in here!" Patterson said. "Take her out the back."

Ryan smiled at her again. "With pleasure."

"Wait!" she said, as he moved towards her. "Wait, I'll do it."

He frowned, "What?"

"I'll do it. I'll…have sex with someone if that's what you want. DI Driscoll doesn't need to know, and he can carry on with his operation or…whatever…but I don't want to do it with him, the bloke with the champagne. The other blokes that were at the bar."

"Moustache and his mate?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "the clean shaven one. I'll do it with him." She watched as the men exchanged glances. "Come on, if I'm going to do this then I should least get to pick who I'm doing it with, right? I mean, you want to humiliate Stewart, not me, right?" She looked at Ryan again, trying to push from her mind how, mere moments earlier, he would have taken her by force himself. "Right?"

Patterson shrugged, "I really don't care who she does it with, Ryan, just get it done."

"So, let me get this straight," Ryan moved in closer to her. "You'll actually have sex with someone and then let me tell you husband about it?"

"Yes," she replied, unsure as to how it would all play out but knowing it was the only way to potentially save herself, "if that's what you want."

He smiled and stepped back. "Right then. I'll fetch him, shall I?"

"Yeah," she swallowed hard. "You do that."

XXXX

He wanted to nick him and yet he wasn't sure what for. John had been waxing on for what seemed like hours about his likes and dislikes, his fantasies and experiences and he was fast becoming someone that Frank no longer wanted to be acquainted with. But he also knew that the longer they talked, the more chance he had of keeping him away from Christina.

"I'm quite discerning to be fair," John said, "I mean I don't just go with any old slag…oh, I reckon that might be my cue!" He smiled and straightened up and, turning, Frank saw Ryan making his way back towards them. "Is she ready for me then?"

"Sorry," he said, "she's turned you down. Women' prerogative."

"You what?" John looked at him. "But she's a slag, she can't do that!"

"In here, she can." He turned to Frank. "Apparently, _you've_ taken the lady's fancy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh yeah, she's practically dripping for you. You interested?"

"Hang on a minute!" John protested. "She's mine! I said I wanted her!"

Frank looked at him again, at how pathetic and disgusting he really was, and then glanced at Ted. An unspoken exchange passed between them and he knew the other man understood. "I guess you're out of luck, pal," he replied, clapping John on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll find another one to take your fancy. As for me, I'm not one to turn a lady down. Ted, maybe you could ring my missus, let her know I'll be a bit later home than intended."

"Right you are," Ted said cheerfully. "Enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will, old son, don't worry." Turning, he followed Ryan across the club towards the rear, pausing only to allow him to open the office door. Behind the desk, a man he assumed to be Patterson was pouring himself a large scotch.

"So, you're the lucky one," he remarked.

"So it would appear."

"It's not often we let our girls choose their punters. I mean, it's bad for business allowing them to be picky, but Tina's a bit special, isn't she Ryan?"

"Yeah, very special," Ryan replied. "Top notch, in fact."

"I see," Frank reached into his pocket. "What's the damage going to be then?"

"Two-fifty."

"Well, it's lucky I went to the cashpoint on the way here," he pulled out a bundle of notes and tossed them onto the desk.

"Thank you very much," Patterson scooped it up. "Everything else you need you'll find in the room. Ryan will show you the way."

They let the office by the back door and Frank found himself climbing a spiral wrought iron staircase up to the second floor. Upon reaching the landing, he could see there were a number of different doors leading off, with Ryan turning to the first one. "I'll let you into a secret," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "It's our Tina's first time. I'd say to break her in gently, but I reckon she's ripe for a pounding, know what I mean?"

"Oh definitely. Thanks for the tip." The door swung open, and he stepped inside, momentarily distracted by the décor within. The room was lit dimly by a couple of lamps in the corner, illuminating the red walls and matching bedspread. On the table at the far end was a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant, Christina hovering beside it.

"Enjoy yourself," Ryan grinned before turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Well," Frank said once they were alone. "Apparently, you're ripe for a pounding."

"Yeah…" she let out a shaky breath, "and apparently he wants to tell Stewart all about it."


	16. Chapter 16

"What the bloody hell does your husband have to do with anything?"

Christina sighed again and shook her head, "I don't know. Patterson wanted me to sleep with that boke, the one that bought the champagne. He said it was about making sure that 'nice' men came to his club. When Ryan was trying to force me up the stairs, he said that maybe he would have a go at me after I'd been with the punter and that that would make Stewart mad. Then he said it was payback time and that they couldn't let Stewart get away with what he had done."

"And you've no idea what he was referring to?"

"No! Not only that…Patterson knows I'm a police officer."

"How?" Frank frowned.

"Well, I…eh…told him."

"You did what?"

"Ryan threw me against the wall and I just came out with it! But the thing is…he already knew, and he knows Ryan's on the job too, said he was his inside man. And then Ryan said that the whole thing was basically all about getting me into a situation where I had to sleep with someone. He said that they knew I was a good copper and that I wouldn't want to ruin the operation and that he wanted to be the one to tell Stewart what had happened."

"So, he thought you would just lie back and think of England?"

"Yes, but then he pulled out a knife and Patterson told him to take me out the back. That's when I said I would do it, but only if I got to pick who I did it with."

"And you picked me?"

"Yeah, well…" she felt herself redden at the implication, "We weren't going to actually do it, were we? It was the only way I could think of to get to speak to you. But, anyway, what are you and Ted even doing here?"

"You should be bloody glad we _are_ here!"

"I am, but _why_ are you here?"

He paused and she thought she recognised a flicker of regret cross his face. "I told Ted about the job you were doing for Vice. When I mentioned Patterson's name, he told me some things about him, bad things."

"What sort of bad things?"

"That he's into hurting girls, raping them, perhaps even killing them. Apparently, AMIP have been all over him for three murders dating back the last few years."

"Oh my God…"

"Driscoll never told me any of that when he asked for you to take the job. If I'd known…"

She met his gaze. "You would have said no?"

"Well, I would have been a bit more discerning about it. Looked into all of it myself rather than just take his word for it." He paused again, clearly battling with what to say. "I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry about putting you in this situation."

"Oh, well…" she felt flummoxed by his apology and yet overtly aware that it was really the last thing she should be concerned about at that moment. "It's not your fault that this seems to be all about something other than catching Patterson running underage girls. So, what do we do now?"

"Ted's whistling up the troops. We'll raid the place. There has to be _something_ we can get Patterson on, even if it isn't what Vice were looking for."

"But what about Ryan? He's clearly bent and the way he flashed that knife at me, if anyone's been hurting girls it's probably him." She shivered at the memory and wrapped her arms around herself. "Not to mention…"

"Not to mention what?"

"Well, he tried it on with me in the stairwell, said maybe he should have a go first rather than waiting until I was done with the punter. He…eh…well, put his hand up my skirt." She saw his jaw clench. "I mean, it was nothing really. I managed to push him off and get away. That's how I ended up back in Patterson's office."

"Did he touch you? Intimately, I mean?"

She felt her cheeks flame again. "No. I mean…he touched my underwear, but he didn't get any further than that. Really, it was nothing. I'm not bothered about that. I'm more bothered about everything else."

"Has Stewart ever mentioned Ryan to you? Or Patterson?"

"No, never. At least, not as far as I can remember. I mean, I don't doubt places like this would be on the squad's radar, but I'd never heard the names until I took this job." She paused, a sudden wave of anxiety washing over her. "You don't think Stewart's involved in anything dodgy, do you?"

"He's your husband, not mine. What do _you_ think?"

"No," she shook her head, pushing away the creeping feeling of doubt. "He might be a lot of things but he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she replied angrily. "You don't know him, not really. He's not a bad person, despite how he's maybe come across to you in the past. He's a good officer."

"I'll take your word for it." He turned back towards the door. "Maybe we should go out, say that we're done."

"Already?"

"Oh, I see. You'd like to think I'd take a bit longer over you, would you?"

"No," she rolled her eyes. "But if you want to give the impression you can't hold it in, then that's up to you Guv."

"Very funny. We could go down and nick Patterson now for brothel-keeping."

"Without any backup, I wouldn't put it past Ryan to try and do away with the two of us. Do you think they guessed who you are?"

"I doubt it," Frank replied, reaching for the door handle, and then rattling it impatiently when it refused to turn. "But then again, I could be wrong." He turned back to face her. "It's locked."

XXXX

Having rank bestowed on a person was meant to be an acknowledgment of the fact that those in charge felt such a person to be capable of dealing with situations in such a way as to ensure the safety and wellbeing of more junior officers. And yet, in that moment, Frank couldn't help but admit that he wasn't entirely sure what to do. He didn't have a radio on him, though there was one in the car that Ted would hopefully have used to alert the station, and there was no other apparent way out of the room other than through the locked door which, if she was right, had a knife wielding maniac waiting on the other side.

"Maybe they lock everybody in," Christina opined. "I'm guessing you only get a set time with a girl anyway."

He glanced at his watch. "It's been fifteen minutes. How long do they think the kind of bloke who frequents these kinds of places needs?"

"I wouldn't know. Maybe they're big proponents of the girl getting her end away too."

"Well, that should only take a couple of minutes maximum."

"Oh, really?"

He turned back to look at her, as a slow smile spread across her face, despite the circumstances in which they found themselves. "Yeah, well I suppose it depends on the bloke, doesn't it? I've never had any complaints in that department. Oi!" he banged the door before she could reply. "We're done in here! Can you let us out?!" For a moment, there was no response then, the sound of a key clicked in the lock and the door swung open revealing Ryan on the other side.

"Finished already?" he asked.

"Oh yeah well, I don't like to hang around," Frank replied.

"How was she then?"

"Top notch. Worth every penny."

"Good, "Ryan stepped back. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the experience. I do hope you'll pay us a return visit and tell all your friends, of course."

"Oh, of course," Frank replied, sliding his arm around Christina's waist and feeling her flinch slightly at his touch. "I'm looking forward to chatting a bit more to this little beauty downstairs."

"I'm very sorry," Ryan replied, in a tone that indicated he was anything but. "I'm afraid that our little Tina has another engagement." He stepped between them, forcing her to step backwards into the room. "I have to fulfil a little promise that I made to myself earlier. But feel free to speak to any of the other lovely girls we have in the bar. Any one of them would be happy to accommodate you."

"I'd prefer this one actually. I have paid for her after all."

"Yeah, and you've had your money's worth," Ryan turned back to look at him, his eyes hard. "Like I said, she's got another engagement."

"I'd rather go with him," Christina spoke up and when Frank met her gaze, he could see a flicker of fear in her expression.

"I'm sure you would, darling, I'm sure you would. But the fact is, you're mine now." Before he could say anything further, Ryan stepped fully into the room and slammed the door behind him, the ominous sound of the key in the lock sending a jolt of anxiety through him.

"Shit…" he muttered to himself. Should he announce who he was and try and break the door down, or go back downstairs and hope to God Ted had managed to alert the cavalry? If Ryan _did_ have a knife what were the chances of being able to disarm him without causing injury? The few seconds of procrastination seemed to stretch for hours before he settled on the fact that, regardless of what else was going on or what else happened, his main priority had to be potentially saving the life of his colleague, saving her. He turned back to the door and pounded it with his fist. "Police! Open the door!"

XXXX

"Oh, I get it," Ryan said, advancing towards her across the room as Frank's voice came through the door. "That's why you picked him. One of your own."

"One of _your_ own too," Christina replied, backing away from him towards the wall. "You're a police officer too, Ryan, or have you forgotten that? How did you get so drawn into all this? What does Patterson have on you?" The loud thumping of her heart almost seemed to drown out the sound of her own voice and yet she was savvy enough to realise that if she could keep him talking then, somehow, it might help prevent him from doing what he clearly wanted to do.

"What do you care?" he asked. "It's not like you're going to be telling anybody anything anyway."

"So, you're just going to kill me, and my DI too?" The door thumped again behind him. "Come on Ryan, you won't get away with that."

"Kill you? Who said anything about killing you? I'm going to have you and then I'm going to tell your wonderful husband all about how I held you down and gave you a seeing to." Before she could react, he lunged for her, gripping her by the arm and throwing her over onto the bed. She had no time to move, no time to escape, before he was suddenly on her, pulling her around onto her back and frantically pushing up her skirt, the door thudding in the background the entire time. "I guess it just makes it all the more exciting, doesn't it?" he breathed, pushing his body down on top of hers so that she could barely breathe, one hand tearing at his own fly whilst the other hooked around her pants and attempted to drag them down over her leg. "Having someone out there, desperate to come inside. You reckon your DI would get off on seeing me take you?"

"Get off me!" she managed to shout, though she had no strength to be able to physically resist. "Stop it!"

"I bet _she_ said that to him too," he said. "I bet _she_ begged him to stop…" he wriggled the material as far down as he could. "I bet that made Stewart all the more hot for her…" he broke off as the door suddenly crashed open, his hesitation allowing her the opportunity to push hard against him as uniformed officers rushed towards them and pulled him from her. Instinctively, she rolled over onto her side and over the edge of the bed, crashing down onto the floor and sliding back against the far wall, watching as Ryan was pinned on his front on the bed and Pete handcuffed him.

"Are you all right?!" June's face suddenly swam in front of her. "Chris, are you all right?!"

"Yes…" she stuttered, suddenly realising she had been holding her breath. "Yes…" She felt herself being pulled to her feet and propelled backwards across the room towards the table that bore the condoms and lubricant before being forced into a chair.

"Look at me…look at me!" Frank's voice snapped into her consciousness and, when she focused again, saw that he was crouched in front of her. "You all right?"

"I'm all right," she murmured, "I'm fine…" Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Ryan was dragged from the room, kicking and protesting, shouting words that she couldn't even begin to understand. The noise grew fainter as he was taken down the stairs and, eventually, there was an uneasy silence and she realised that she and Frank were alone. "I thought you'd done a runner on me, Guv," she said shakily.

"Didn't you hear me banging on the door?"

"Yeah, I heard you." She shook her head. "He's deranged. He knew you were outside, and he still thought he could…"

"How far did he get?" he asked bluntly.

She glanced down to see her knickers halfway down one side of her leg and suddenly felt overcome with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. "Not far."

"Right…" he got to his feet and moved away from her, turning his back to allow her to adjust herself. "Well, whatever he's getting nicked for, we'll be tacking on attempted rape. You up to making a statement?"

Letting out a long breath she nodded, "I just wish I knew what all this was about."

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "We're going to find out."

XXXX

"How is WDC Lewis?"

"She's a bit shaken up, sir, but she'll be all right. She's made of tough stuff." Frank hovered in front of Conway's desk, waiting for the recriminations to start.

"What the _hell_ went wrong?" the other man demanded. "You assured me that this was a safe operation and that she wouldn't come to any harm. Next thing I hear, Patterson's in the frame for a couple of murders and one of our officers is almost raped by a rogue member of the Vice squad!"

"I know that sir, and I take full responsibility for not doing the appropriate due diligence. I should have looked into what Billy Driscoll told me about Patterson before I let Chris go under."

"Did Driscoll know about what this Ryan character was up to?"

"That's not entirely clear yet. He's been a bit cagey in interview." To be fair, it was an understatement. Ted and Jim had questioned Ryan and reported back that he had essentially talked a lot of nonsense, focusing solely on 'something' that he suggested Stewart Church had done to 'someone' as yet unidentified. "In any event, it's my fault that she ended up in that situation and I've apologised to her for that."

"Yes, well…what's all this about her husband?"

"We don't know yet. From what Chris said in her statement, Ryan appears to believe that Stewart was responsible for something that he, Ryan, couldn't let him get away with. He wanted her working at the club in order to force her into a situation where she would either have to blow her cover or end up having sex with someone."

"He actually thought she would prostitute herself for the sake of an operation?" Conway looked at him doubtfully.

Frank paused. "She's a good officer, sir, and he knew that. I think if Ted and I hadn't been there, the thought may have briefly crossed her mind."

"Yes, well…I suppose it's a good thing that you _were_ there, even if it wasn't sanctioned."

"We just went for a drink, sir," Frank replied innocently. "No law against that."

"No…in any case, I hope you told WDC Lewis that under no circumstances should _any_ officer, male or female, end up in bed with _anyone_ during an undercover operation."

"She knows that and, for what it's worth, I don't believe she would have gone through with it."

Conway shook his head, "It's all a bit of mess, Frank, isn't it?"

"Yes sir, but Billy Driscoll's on his way in. Hopefully he might be able to fill in the blanks."

"Yes, well let's hope so. I suppose Christina realises that she'll have to talk to MS15 too?"

"She knows, but I don't think she's too keen on the idea, especially given what Ryan has said about her husband."

"Well, she's just going to have to lump it, isn't she?" Conway grimaced. "Like we all have to. Yes, come in!" he called in response to a knock at his door.

"Sorry to interrupt," Ted said, "but DI Driscoll's downstairs."

"Right," Frank replied, "if we're finished sir?"

"Yes, go on," Conway waved him away and he left, closing the door behind him.

"Has he said anything?" Frank asked as he and Ted made their way downstairs.

"Not a lot. He's doesn't look very happy though."

"No? Well, that makes two of us."

"You want me in on this?"

"No, you're all right. I can handle Billy." He pushed open the door of the front interview room to find the other man pacing on the other side of the desk. "Nice of you to make an appearance."

"Don't you give me that!" Driscoll raged, glaring at him. "I want to know exactly what the hell you thought you were doing going to that club!"

"Saving the dignity, not to mention the life, of one of my officers," Frank replied harshly. "You've got a bit of explaining to do Billy."

"Me? I reckon you're the one needing to explain himself Frank. This was _my_ operation, and it was going fine until you waded in with your size twelves and blew the whole thing wide open!"

"Oh, going well was it? Having one of your officers working for the man you allegedly want to convict? Threatening my officer with a knife? Forcibly attempting to rape her? You call that going well? I call it a bloody shambles!"

Driscoll stared at him, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your man Ryan! Didn't you know he was working for Patterson?"

"I…"

"Patterson's known all along he's a copper and he knew Christina was one too, right from the moment she walked through his door. You want to explain that to me? Or better still, would you like to explain that to her seeing as she's the one who got hurt?"

Driscoll paused, "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. Fortunately, _I_ was there to stop him from having his way with her and then probably doing worse." Frank folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Did you know?"

"No," Driscoll pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. "I mean…no."

"Was it Ryan who suggested you use Christina for the undercover operation?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to question it?"

"Everything I said I knew about her was true," Driscoll looked up hastily. "I knew she was a good officer, people at Catford said so…"

"What about her husband?"

"Like I said, I'd had a few run ins with him, but that didn't have anything to do with…"

"We have information that Ryan knew him too, that he held a grudge against him for something and that that's why Christina was requested for the operation." He waited whilst Driscoll looked away uncomfortably. "Billy…she almost got raped."

"I was aware that there had been an incident involving Ryan and Stewart Church last year."

"What sort of incident?"

"We had a joint operation going with the Drugs Squad, sharing information that sort of thing. Ryan had a snout, a good one. She had close ties with our target at the time and she was full of useful information. Somehow, Church got a hold of her and she started clamming up, wouldn't talk to Ryan anymore, wouldn't give him any information, said she would only talk to Church. The rumour was…well…the rumour was that Church was sleeping with her."

"So?"

"Well…Ryan was sleeping with her too."

"And you knew this?"

"It was only a rumour…"

"He's _your_ officer!" Frank exclaimed incredulously. "If you suspected something like that was going on, you should have confronted him, put a stop to it!"

"By the time I knew anything about it she was already, apparently, sleeping with Church! What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have realised when Ryan suggested you use Church's wife for this job that there might have been something more behind it. You should have questioned it. You should have told _me_ about it! You really think I would have let her do the job if I'd known? Not to mention the fact that you also failed to tell me what sort of things Patterson was into."

"You never asked."

"I shouldn't need to ask! The onus was on you to make full disclosure of all the important details and Patterson being in the frame for the murder of three girls was one of those details! Only now…" he paused. "Well, let's just say I reckon AMIP will be wanting to take a closer look at Ryan in relation to some of that."

"Oh God…" Driscoll leaned forwards and put his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Frank, really I am."

"Yeah well, it's not me who's owed the apology, is it?"

"Can I see her?" he looked up again. "I'd like to explain."

Frank felt his stomach contract at the thought. "I'm not letting you anywhere near her Billy. I'm sure you'll see her at the trial, not to mention the disciplinary hearing." He turned for the door. "I'm sorry it's come to this, really I am."

"Why did you go there?" Driscoll asked suddenly. "Why did you go to the club?"

Frank turned back to look at him, almost amazed the other man even had to ask. "Because I care about my officers."

"You care about her."

He paused and then opened the door. "Same difference."


	17. Chapter 17

**16 June 1989**

"Happy birthday darling."

Christina looked up as Stewart swept into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. He had been sleeping when she had woken up and had remained so whilst she showered, dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. If she had been hoping for a romantic morning meal with a single stemmed rose in a vase, she had been left wanting, but she did notice that he had a wrapped parcel in one hand and a card in the other.

"These are for you."

"Thank you," she said, taking them from him and slitting open the envelope. The card was appropriately gushing, and she found herself smiling somewhat at the crooked heart he had drawn beneath his name. The package, wrapped in shiny silver paper, revealed itself to be a silver necklace, with a drop pearl pendant, and matching earrings which, she had to admit, were beautiful.

"I knew you'd like them," Stewart said, beaming as he kissed her again. "Dinner tonight, yes? I booked that Italian place that you like, seven o'clock sharp."

"Yeah, sounds great, thanks." She tried to inject some energy into her tone but could quickly tell that she had failed. "I suppose this just isn't how I expected to be spending my birthday, giving evidence before the disciplinary committee."

"It'll be fine," Stewart replied, moving over to the sink and pouring some coffee into his travel mug. "I mean, there isn't really much you can say about Driscoll, is there?"

"No, I suppose not." She looked down at the remnants of cereal in her bowl. "I suppose the difficult stuff will come later."

"Yeah, well…he'll get what's coming to him, Ryan that is." Stewart shook his head. "Mental bastard. Anyone, I've got to go. I'll see you tonight." Before she could say anything else, he had kissed her one final time and disappeared from the kitchen, the sound of the front door slamming a clear indication that he considered his own day far more important than hers.

When Frank had called her into his office ten days earlier and told her that a disciplinary committee was being held to look into DI Driscoll's conduct regarding the Patterson enquiry, she had felt her heart sink. She had already given statements to MS15 about him and Ryan, not to mention a formal statement to the investigating team looking into what had happened to her at the club. Having to go through it all again wasn't something that she relished. But then, she knew her husband was right; there _wasn't_ much she could say about Driscoll. The hardest part would come later.

In the aftermath of that night, she had told Stewart what Frank had said Driscoll had told him; that Ryan believed Stewart had not only stolen but also slept with his snout. Stewart had been furious and had ranted and raved that he was going to sue Ryan for defamation, seeming to fail to grasp the seriousness of what had actually happened to her that night. He had vehemently refuted the notion of any wrongdoing and seemed far more concerned about his own reputation than he was about the fact she had almost been raped by a psychopath. She had buried her disappointment over his reaction and filed it alongside his seeming pleasure at her failing the sergeant's exam. She wasn't sure exactly what either of those things meant, but they weren't incidents that she was likely to forget.

The CID office was quiet when she arrived, only Alistair talking in exasperated tones on the phone to goodness only knew who, but there was a card on her desk signed by all of them and, for some reason, it made her feel better than receiving her own husband's card.

"Happy birthday," Alistair said when he had hung up the phone.

"Thanks."

"Drinks tonight after the shift?"

"Stewart's taking me out for dinner, so I'll only manage a couple before I need to get home."

"Anywhere nice?"

"Luciano's, on the high street?"

"Lovely." He paused. "How you feeling about today?"

She sighed, "Anxious."

"You'll be fine. All you have to do is tell them what you know. Remember, they're not there to get at you. Driscoll's the one in the firing line."

"Yeah, I know." She lifted the papers out of her in-tray and spread them across her desk, hoping that the action made it clear that she didn't want to talk about it further. To his credit, Alistair turned back to his own work and the pair of them concentrated in silence until the sound of loud voices coming up the stairs interrupted them, and Jim and Frank appeared.

"There she is!" Jim exclaimed, bending to give her a kiss. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"You'll be having a drink after the shift?"

"Yeah, Alistair already said."

"Hubby not taking you out somewhere?" Frank asked, and she turned to look at him for the first time. "How very remiss of him."

"No, he is, but not until seven, so I've got time for one or two."

"Good," he headed towards his office. "Quick word, if you don't mind?"

"No, of course not." Rising from her chair, she followed him inside, closing the door behind her. "Guv?"

"Sit down," he looked at her meaningfully. "You feeling all right about today?"

"I suppose so, as much as I can be."

"You know what you're going to say?"

"What I said in my statement. I can't really add anything else to that. I don't _know_ anything else."

"No, I guess not." He sat down opposite her. "I'm up tomorrow."

"I know, you told me. How are _you_ feeling about it?"

"Well, it's never pleasant giving evidence against a fellow officer, especially not one you've worked with, been friendly with."

"No, I can imagine."

"Needs must though, that's how we have to look at it. We have to root out the bad apples and whilst he might not be one of the truly rotten ones, Driscoll does have some explaining to do about his involvement in what happened, or rather what he chose _not_ to involve himself in." He paused. "How are you and Stewart doing?"

"Fine," she nodded. "He's still angry about what's been said about him…"

"I'm not surprised. Accused of sleeping with an informant, cheating on his wife…anyone with as much as ambition as he has would be quite right to be furious." He paused. "I take it he's still denying it."

"Of course he's denying it," she said, feeling anger rise within her. "It's not true, none of it!"

"You believe that when he tells you, do you?"

"Yes, I do!" She got to her feet. "My husband has _never_ cheated on me, never once _wanted_ to cheat on me! He's not…" she stopped herself, well aware that she had been about to say something that would be very hard to come back from.

Frank clearly had the same thought. "You mean, he's not me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. "I only hope that you'll make it very clear in your evidence what part _I_ had to play in your rescue."

"Yes Guv," she felt a smile creep across her face. "I'll be sure to tell the committee how you broke the door down and saved me all out of concern for my wellbeing, as well as my marriage."

"I couldn't give a toss about your marriage."

"No, well…" she grew serious again. "If I'm going to get any work done before I have to go then I'd better get back to it."

"Yeah, all right. Oh, and Chris?" She turned back to look at him. "Good luck."

XXXX

As the hands on the clock in Brownlow's office slipped to two o'clock, Frank found himself tuning out even more than he already had. It had to be one of the most boring meetings he had ever attended since becoming DI. Though there was clearly a place for the Met to take the views of community leaders regarding policing on the manor, having a succession of them trip in and out to air their gripes never really felt to him as achieving anything. But, once every eight weeks, he was co-opted into attending and at least attempting to pretend he was taking something from it. For the last ten minutes however, one of the local councillors had been waxing eloquently about the lack of police presence on the local estates something which he, as DI, felt had very little to do with him.

Christina would be giving her evidence at that point and he found his mind more on that than on what was actually going on around him. He wasn't particularly looking forward to his own appearance the following day but, in a way, he could rationalise it as being something expected of him due to the privilege of rank. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't something the ordinary constable should require to have to go through, especially not when she had been through the ringer herself. Given the nature of the criminal enquiry into Ryan's actions, the case had been handed over to Barton Street and when she had returned to Sun Hill after giving her statement to the inspector over there, he could tell that the experience of reliving what had happened had shook her up.

"Frank, what do you think about Councillor Hammond's proposal?" Brownlow's voice broke into his reverie and he suddenly found himself on the back foot.

"Which one sir?"

Brownlow frowned, "The one he's just made in relation to the appointment of a community officer to liaise with leaders on the estates."

"Well, I think that would have to be a decision taken at uniform level, sir," he replied. "I mean, they are at the grass roots."

"Yes, I'm sure we all appreciate that, but I _am_ keen to hear your views."

"I suppose it can't hurt, so long as the appropriate time and resources were made available."

"Well, _something_ has to be done about all the trouble that goes on down there," Hammond said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Quite frankly, it's a disgrace what those thugs are allowed to get away with."

"I'm sure that every effort is made to detect whatever crimes take place," Frank replied.

"Yes, but it's just not good enough, inspector, is it?"

The conclusion of the meeting couldn't come fast enough and, thankfully, ten minutes later Councillor Hammond was being shown out of the office with promises given that all suggestions would be taken on board. As the door closed behind him, Brownlow turned back to Frank. "I'm not entirely convinced you were with us for the duration of that meeting Frank."

"I'm sorry sir, I've got a lot on my mind today. WDC Lewis is giving evidence before the disciplinary committee dealing with DI Driscoll."

"Yes, I'm aware. She's a very competent young woman and I'm sure she'll do fine. I take it that all the necessary assistance has been offered to her?"

"Assistance?"

"Yes, counselling and the like," Brownlow moved back behind his desk. "I take it she's been pointed in all the right directions."

"Oh, well yes naturally," Frank replied, recalling the leaflet that he had surreptitiously left on her desk advertising a helpline and avenues to explore regarding talking to someone professionally.

"And has she taken any of them up?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Hmmm, perhaps you could encourage her to do so. She did suffer a sexual assault. We don't want anything coming back to bite us later on in the game."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Area is always keen to avoid any complaints."

"Complaints?" Frank frowned.

"Yes, in as much as we didn't discharge our duty properly towards officers injured in the line of duty, especially female officers who are clearly more prone to suffering sexual violence. I would hate to think that WDC Lewis would think us to be remiss in this area."

"I don't believe she thinks that sir, but I will reiterate the benefit of what's on offer to her when I see her next."

"Good, see that you do."

As he made his way back round to his office, Frank once again found himself thinking just how self-serving Brownlow really was. It was clear from what he had said that he really didn't give a toss how Christina was faring after what had happened, only that nothing could possibly blow back on the station or himself. "Twat," he muttered, pushing open the door.

"Who's a twat?" Jim asked, coming through the other door holding an envelope.

"Never mind. What's that?"

"Collection for Chris's present. I'm going to pop out and get in."

"Oh, well…" he reached for his wallet, "stick a fiver in from me. What are you going to get her anyway?"

"A rape alarm."

Frank stared at him, "You what?"

"Well, it seems apt given the circumstances," Jim smiled.

"Are you out of your tree?"

"No…"

"She was assaulted James, very nearly actually raped. Do you really think she wants reminded of that, today of all days? What if it had been your girlfriend, or your sister?" He shook his head, the stupidity of some people never ceasing to amaze him. "Can't you think of something more appropriate, like flowers or chocolates?"

"Well, I just thought…"

"No, you didn't think, that's the problem. Whatever you get, do _not_ get her a rape alarm. I thought you were supposed to be her friend."

"I _am_ her friend," Jim replied indignantly. "It was just a joke!"

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder. Go on, get out. Some of us have got work to do." He watched as the younger man left the room and wandered back over to his desk, turning to talk to Tosh in a low tone of voice that he could tell meant he was the subject of the conversation. Shaking his head again, he could only hope that Tosh would at least talk some sense into him.

XXXX

Stepping outside the committee room, Christina let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Two hours. Two hours she had sat there answering questions almost as though _she_ was the one at fault rather than Driscoll. He had been sat at the opposite end of the room, watching as she had recounted her entire involvement in the operation, from first being approached about it, to Ryan being dragged off of her in that room. When it had gotten to the serious details, the moment when he had attacked her, she realised she was grateful for being sat down, the memory of it all making her feel suddenly lightheaded. At least it was over or, at any rate, that part was over. She knew there would be more to come but, in some ways, only thinking about one step at a time was the simplest way to avoid becoming overwhelmed. There would be a criminal trial for Ryan not to mention a disciplinary too and the very thought of having to recount what had happened over and over again filled her with nothing but dread.

By the time she arrived back at the station, it was after four-thirty and she was greeted by the others who had clearly been waiting on her return before heading down the pub.

"How was it?" Mike asked as she checked the phone messages strewn across her desk.

"Fine," she replied, "it went as well as can be expected I suppose."

"Did Driscoll say anything?"

"No, he just sat there avoiding my gaze the entire time. Anyway," she smiled, keen to talk about something else. "Are we heading down the pub or not? I've only got an hour or so."

"Absolutely," Tosh replied, putting his arm around her shoulder. "It's not every day you turn twenty-nine, is it?"

"No, I guess not." She glanced towards Frank's office, noticing for the first time that it was empty "The DI not coming?"

"He said he'd meet us there," Tosh replied. "Some last-minute meeting or something."

She allowed them to propel her down the stairs and out of the station towards the high street where the local watering hole was located. Everyone appeared to be in a jocular mood and, eventually, she found herself joining in with the laughter, pushing everything else to the back of her mind. The pub was busy, but they managed to find two tables near the back and push them together before Mike offered to buy the first round. The talk turned to their latest cases, Tosh regaling everyone with a story about a one-legged car thief. Ten minutes later, Jim appeared, holding a wrapped package under his arm.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, handing it over to her. "Happy birthday, Chris."

"You didn't have to get me anything," she said, taking it from him, touched that they had gone to the trouble. "That's really kind."

"You haven't seen it yet," Tosh quipped.

"Am I going to be embarrassed to open this?" she asked, looking over at Jim.

"No, of course not! I just hope you like the colour, that's all."

"Not a sex toy, is it?" Mike asked.

"No, it is not!"

She pulled back the wrapping and opened the box to find a purple sweater nestled inside crepe paper. It was soft and fluffy, and she found herself momentarily shocked that Jim had made such a good choice. "Did you pick this?" she asked, taking it out and holding it against her.

"I might have done," Jim replied. "But I had a bit of help."

"Let's just say, I've been buying presents for women for a long time," Tosh nudged her gently.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

"Nice colour." She looked up in time to see Frank join them at the table. "You pick that yourself, James?"

"I helped, Guv," Tosh chimed in.

"Well at least you came to your senses."

"Came to his senses about what?" she asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," Jim said, reddening slightly. "Just a misunderstanding."

"I should say," Frank clapped his hands together. "Right, I'll get them in. What are you having?"

A flurry of orders shot across the table before he left and made his way over to the bar and she found herself making an excuse to go and join him. As she approached, he turned to look at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't in the office when you got back. How did you get on?"

"All right I suppose," she replied. "At times it felt as though they were trying to trip me up, goodness only knows why. I was only telling the truth."

"They've got to be robust," he replied, after giving the order to the barmaid. "Doesn't mean that they didn't believe you."

"No…" she mused. "Driscoll looked terrible."

"As well he might, stupid bastard. If he'd done his job properly it's possible that none of this would have happened. Anyway, on that note…" he turned to look at her. "Have you done anything about getting any counselling?"

"No," she replied, somewhat surprised by the question. "Why?"

"Because it's important. What happened isn't something to just be swept under the carpet you know."

"Two disciplinary tribunals and a possible criminal trial are hardly sweeping it under the carpet."

"I'm not talking about that," he said, handing over the money. "I'm talking about your mental wellbeing."

She looked away, somewhat reluctant to get into it with him, "My mental wellbeing is fine, Guv, really."

"If you're not getting the support from home…"

"Who said that?" she retorted, swinging around to face him. "I never said that. Stewart's been _very_ supportive!"

"You said he was angry about how _he'd_ come out of all of this. You never said anything about whether or not he was actually giving _you_ any support."

She stared at him, trying to read his underlying meaning, trying to make sense of what he could possibly be getting at and, underneath it all, feeling herself angered by the insinuation that the man who loved her was being anything other than genuine. "He _has_ given me support. Really, honestly, he has."

"Have you talked about what happened?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't mean about what Patterson said or Ryan said or the operation. I mean, about what happened to you in that room. I mean, when Ryan was on top of you, attempting to rape you."

She swallowed hard, on the one hand desperately unwilling to relive it and, on the other, desperate to talk about it with someone who had at least been there and who might understand. Given everything, however, the first option seemed the safest. "I'd rather not talk about it, Guv, if you don't mind."

He paused and then slid a drink across the bar to her. "Fair enough." Lifting his own glass, he clinked it gently against hers. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah," she said, draining half the glass in one go. "Happy birthday."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By way of background to this chapter, it was not an offence for a man to rape his wife in England until 1992.

**1 September 1989**

"All right Sophie, just take your time. There's no rush, just tell Inspector Burnside and I what happened in your own words."

Frank sat back in his chair, regarding the woman in front of him carefully. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, petite with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, though her face bore all the hallmarks of someone who had lived a bit of a troubled life. Her two young children were being cared for in the canteen by June and Viv their mother, unsurprisingly, not keen for them to hear the details of what she was about to divulge. When she had turned up at the front desk and told Barry Stringer that she wanted to report a rape, the whistle had gone straight up to his office. It was the type of crime that could only be investigated by an Inspector or above and, thankfully, Christina had been sat at her desk appearing, at least, to be doing very little. Having a female officer to assist could only be a good thing.

He hated rapes.

In a slow, trembling voice, the woman recounted the tale she had come to tell, the one about a husband whom she had married thinking herself to be in love only to find that he was really a monster in disguise, the kind of monster who forced her to do things that she didn't want to do.

"How often does this happen?" Christina asked, her voice low as her pen hovered over her notepad.

"Every other night," Sophie wiped her eyes. "He just won't take no for an answer."

"Is he violent?"

"Sometimes."

"And where are the kids when this happens?"

"Sometimes they're asleep or in the other room. The other night he left them in the bath while…I mean, you don't leave young kids in the bath alone, do you? Anything could happen." She dissolved into sobs. "I can't take it anymore. I just want it to stop!"

"When he does this," Frank said, sitting forwards, "what do you do?"

Sophie looked up at him, "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you try and fight him off?"

"In the beginning, yeah but…but then I realised that there was no point so…so now I just let him do what he wants, even if I don't want to. Sometimes he still gets heavy with me anyway, even if I'm just letting him do it."

"Do you have anywhere else you can go?" She shook her head. "No family or friends?"

"All my family's up north and I don't really have many friends, not that I could go to about something like this. Everyone thinks he's a real catch, my Dennis."

"Right…" he sat back in his chair again and looked over at Christina. "Would you excuse us for a minute, Sophie? We'll be right back." Rising to his feet, he opened the door of the interview room and allowed Christina to go out first before closing it again behind them.

She turned to face him and shook her head. "Bastard. What do you think?"

"I think we've got a problem," Frank replied grimly. "They're married."

"So?"

"Come on Chris, you know the law as well as I do. It is _not_ an offence for a husband to force his wife to have sex with him unless they are legally separated. Now, did she say they were? Of course she didn't They're still living together, still part of a so-called happy family. As such, it falls within the common law exemption and there is nothing that we can do. Not to mention the fact that she said most of the time she just lies there and lets him get on with it. No force," he added on her look.

"Just because they're married doesn't give him the right…"

"Yes, yes it does. As distasteful as you or I might find it, that's the law. We're doing her no favours pretending that it's any other way."

"But she came to us for help!"

"I know and that was very brave of her, but all you can do is give her some leaflets and the phone number for Women's Aid and send her on her way."

"All _I_ can do?" she looked at him squarely. "Why have _I_ got to be the one to tell her we can't do anything? _You're_ the senior officer."

"I think she might take it better coming from you."

"Oh, so it's all right for an investigation of this nature to have to be run by an Inspector or above, but when it comes to telling victims that we're just going to toss them back out into their abuser's arms, a constable can take the flak?"

"It's nothing to do with that."

"So, it's because I'm a woman then," she folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

"In a nutshell – yes."

"But that's…"

"Look," he sighed. "One of the advantages of having women officers in CID is to help deal with these types of situations. How do you think she would have felt, how do you think any rape victim feels, coming in here and reporting what happened to them to a bunch of men? It's all about sensitivity, or at least that's what they keep trying to tell us. You should be pleased that I'm letting you handle this instead of bulldozing my way through it myself. Sister solidarity and all that, isn't that what you want?"

"I'm all for women, any woman, having a positive experience when they come to us, Guv but making me out to be the bad guy just because I'm also a woman doesn't seem fair! The least you could do is back me up when I have to tell her."

"You're like a dog with a bone," he shook his head at her stubbornness and found himself almost regretting inviting her along for the interview. At least Ted would have understood. "Fine, but _you_ do the talking, all right?"

Nodding, she pushed the door open, and he followed her inside, immediately feeling a pang of guilt at the hopeful expression Sophie shot in their direction.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting Sophie," Christina said. "I realise that this has been very difficult for you. I…" she paused slightly. "The problem is…unfortunately your husband hasn't done anything wrong, not legally at least."

Sophie looked between them, her face wild with confusion, "I don't…I don't understand…"

"Unfortunately, when a woman gets married, she, technically, gives up the right to say no to her husband when he wants intercourse."

"So, you're saying it's not a crime?"

"No, it isn't."

"But…but he held me down and…and he penetrated me and…" tears coursed down Sophie's cheeks, "and he didn't listen when I told him to stop. How can that not be a crime?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably. "Because it just isn't. I'm sorry. Morally, your husband is a piece of excrement but, legally, he hasn't committed any crime. Now, if you were legally separated…"

"Separated?" Sophie stared at him. "But I told you, I don't have anywhere to go!"

"I understand that…"

"So, what do you expect me to do? Just let him do it to me night after night after night?!"

"There are people who can help you," Christina said. "I can give you the number of Women's Aid. They have shelters all across the country that you and your children can access and they can help you get legal advice about a proper separation, even a divorce. If you can get the ball rolling on that, if he touches you again, then we would be able to do something. I know that this sounds unfair…"

"Are you married?" Sophie asked suddenly.

"Yes," Christina replied, "yes, I am."

"So, if it was _your_ husband doing this, and you told _him_ about it," she gestured carelessly towards him, "he would still tell you that there was nothing the police could do?"

Frank watched out the corner of his eye as Christina's jaw clenched, "Yes, he would."

"Oh well…that's just great, isn't it?" Sophie got to her feet. "I came here for help and the best you can do is tell me that you can't do anything? I should never have bothered in the first place!"

"Look, Sophie please…" Christina reached out her hand, but the other woman shrugged her away.

"No! I just want to get out of here! I should never have come! Where are my kids? I want my kids!"

"Your kids are fine," she said, "they're still in the canteen. If DI Burnside doesn't mind showing you back to the front office, I'll fetch them for you, along with that information I mentioned." She shot him a final look before slipping out of the room again, leaving him with Sophie. He watched as she lifted her bag from the floor and wiped her eyes again.

"I really am sorry."

"Are you?" she looked at him. "Or are you just relieved you don't have to do anything about it?"

"Mrs Brennan, I can assure you that if there was something I could do, I would do it. I don't agree with the law as it stands at the moment, but until someone decides to change it, my hands are tied."

"I bet if it was one of your own, you would. I bet if _she_ told you she'd been raped you would do something about it!"

"I'm sorry." He held the door open and then followed her down the corridor back towards the front office where she was reunited with her children. "WDC Lewis can show you out."

"Thanks Guv," Christina replied witheringly.

"You're welcome." He turned back through the door and headed back upstairs to his office, hoping that whatever crime came his way next would be one he could do something about. "I hate rapes," he announced, stepping into the CID room.

"Who's been raped?" Mike asked, looking up from the typewriter.

"Some poor cow's been raped by her husband."

"That's not a crime, is it?"

"No Michael, it _isn't_ a crime. Not yet at least."

"And a good thing too," Ted echoed, lighting up a cigarette at his desk. "Lot of husbands be very upset if it was."

Frank stared at him, unsure what surprised him more, Ted's attitude or the fact that his own was so different. "So, you think it's acceptable for a man to force his wife to have sex with him whether she wants to or not?"

"That's what marriage is about, isn't it? Forcing the other person to do something they don't want to do." A titter went around the room and Ted blew smoke in his direction. "Don't tell me that working with Christina is making you go soft, Frank? You're not telling me that every time you went to bed with your wife, she was up for it."

"Course she was Ted," he replied brightly, pushing all thoughts of his failed union to the back of his mind. "She was married to me, wasn't she?"

XXXX

The encounter with Sophie Brennan had left Christina feeling chilled in a way she hadn't for a long time. Watching her leave the station with her children in tow, she had been desperate to call her back, to tell her that they _would_ do something about her husband and that she needn't live in fear any longer. Sense told her, however, that there was no point. Even if they were to arrest her husband and question him, CPS would bin it for the exact same reason that Frank had given her; it just wasn't a crime.

She sat in the canteen for a while, drinking burning hot coffee to try and bring some life back to her extremities before venturing back up to the CID office where, no doubt, the others would all be chatting about what a woman's expectations were when she got married and about how women just had to roll over and give their husbands pleasure whenever they wanted it. The whole idea made her shudder and think on her own marriage. Had there been times when Stewart had wanted sex when she hadn't really been up for it? Of course there had. Had she given in and allowed him to have sex with her anyway? Yes, she had and, most of the time, she had enjoyed it. Did that mean she had been raped? The whole thing was a minefield, so different from the blatant violence that Ryan had subjected her to.

"Oh, there you are." She looked up to see Reg approaching the table, holding something in his hand. "This just came for you. I accepted service on your behalf."

"What is it?"

"Looks like a court citation to me. I'm guessing it'll be for your undercover job, you know where that bloke…"

"Yes, thanks Reg, I do remember the incident." She sighed heavily and looked at the envelope bearing her name. He hovered in front of her, and she looked up again. "Thank you, Reg."

"Oh, right, yeah."

He moved away from the table and she slit the envelope open to indeed reveal a court citation for four weeks hence regarding the case against Ryan Brown. Funny, she hadn't even really thought about his surname until that point. Seeing it in black and white made everything suddenly seem real again and another shiver went through her.

The CID office was unusually quiet when she went upstairs, but a quick glance at her watch made her realise that it was lunchtime and so most of them were probably down the pub. Throwing the citation onto her desk, she sat down and put her head in her hands.

"Everything all right?"

Jumping, she lifted her head in time to see Frank coming out of his office. "Sorry Guv, I didn't see you there. I thought everyone was out."

"I was just about to head down the pub to meet the others. You coming?"

"No, I'll pass thanks. I got my citation for Crown Court."

"Yeah, I got mine and all. Hollis was like a dog with two whatsits when he came up to give it to me."

"I suppose I sort of hoped it would never come."

"Well, I reckon that's understandable."

"I mean, it seems all a bit, I don't know, unfair."

"Unfair how?"

"Well, it was something that only lasted a minute or two, if that. He was on top of me, trying to assault me, and then it was all over." She shivered again. "And then you've got women like Sophie Brennan, who are raped night after night by the men that are supposed to love them, and what justice do they get? None at all. Nobody cares. There's no citation coming for her."

"The world isn't always fair, Chris."

"Yeah, I know that Guv, but this just seems…" she shook her head. "I guess I'm finding it difficult to wrap my head around the fact that _I'm_ entitled to justice for something that doesn't really affect me and she…"

"Doesn't really affect you? You were almost raped."

"But he was never going to do it, was he? You were on the other side of the door. There's no way he would have been able to…you know…before you came into the room."

"So that doesn't make you a victim?"

"No, not in the same way Sophie is."

He paused and perched on the edge of Ted's desk. "Did you ever do anything about counselling?"

"No, there didn't seem much point."

"Christina…"

"Guv…do we really have to go over this again? I already told you how I feel about it. I'm fine. I don't need any counselling." Even as she said the words, she wasn't entirely convinced that they were true. Thoughts of what had happened often invaded her mind when she least expected it, but Stewart had made it clear on more than one occasion in the last few months that he didn't want to discuss it and she wasn't sure why. Could he not bear to bring himself to think about what had happened to her, or did he not think it was serious? Maybe he didn't consider it a 'proper' attack either.

"Well, when your civil claim for damages against the Met fails because you didn't take advantage of the help that was offered to you, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Civil claim?" His words pulled her back into the moment. "Is that what everyone thinks I'm going to do, raise a claim?"

"No, but it would be an option for you, especially given the circumstances of the operation."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"All right but, like I said, don't say I didn't warn you." He straightened up. "You sure you don't want to come down the pub?"

"She made a good point."

"Who made a good point?"

"Sophie Brennan. She made a good point earlier."

"About what?"

"About the fact that if Stewart raped me and I came to you to report it…you would say that you wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"Well, you told her that was the case, didn't you? We can't change the law depending on the class of victim, no matter what some people might think."

"You weren't saying that about that prostitute rape last year," she reminded him. "I seem to recall certain people not considering it a crime at all."

"Yeah, well…that was different. Anyway, if your husband _did_ rape you, I'd only be unable to do anything officially."

"Meaning what?" she frowned.

"Well, unofficially…" he left the remainder of his thought dangling and she found herself meeting his gaze, almost as if an understanding had passed between them. "Now, maybe you don't need a drink, but I certainly do. Last chance to join us."

"No," she shook her head. "No, I'll give it a miss."

"Suit yourself," he turned and left the office, whistling as he pushed open the double doors and hurried down the stairs.

 _Unofficially._ What did that even mean? Did it mean Stewart being cornered down a dark alley one night and having the shit kicked out of him? She supposed it would have to. What else _could_ it mean? She looked again at the citation and once more her thoughts turned to Sophie.

Life really wasn't fair sometimes.

XXXX

"She didn't want to come then?" Tosh asked, as Frank sat down beside him.

"No, she didn't."

"She's not still pissed off about that rape victim, is she?"

"She got her citation in for court next month."

"Well, that won't be easy for her," Tosh mused. "It's one thing giving evidence in the course of your duties, quite another when you're technically a victim."

"There's no 'technically' about it," he said. "She _is_ a victim."

"Sorry Guv, I didn't mean…"

"Forget it. Cheers," he lifted his glass and drained half of it in one go. "She'll be all right."

"Yeah, she's made of tough stuff our Chris and, well, it's not as if…"

"It's not as if what?"

"Well, luckily, he didn't actually rape her, did he?"

"No, he didn't. But when he was on top of her, pulling at her underwear, I'm not convinced she would have realised that are you?" Frank shook his head as the other man blushed. "Anyway, it was _my_ fault she ended up in that situation in the first place." He thought back to when he had appeared in front of Driscoll's disciplinary committee and about the questions that had been asked about his own judgement in the whole affair. There had been times, so many times since, when he had wished he could go back and change things.

"You can't blame yourself Guv, it could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah, well it didn't, did it? It happened to one of _my_ officers on _my_ watch. I'm pretty sure the defence will have something to make out of that. Are you listening to me?" he frowned as Tosh's head bobbed about in front of him, the other man clearly trying to see what was going on somewhere behind him.

"Yeah Guv, I am but…isn't that Christina's husband?"

Frank turned in his chair to follow Tosh's gaze and immediately saw Stewart Church standing at the bar, a tall blonde at his side, and his arm around her waist.


	19. Chapter 19

"Right." Frank drained his glass and put it down on the table before getting to his feet.

"Eh…Guv…" Tosh leapt up. "I…uh…"

"What?"

"You've got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The look of a man about to stick his oar in where it's not wanted." Tosh looked at him knowingly. "You don't know anything about the circumstances of that."

"If by 'that' you mean the fact that Christina's husband is canoodling with another woman at a public bar, then I think it's pretty clear what the circumstances are, don't you?"

"She could be anyone," Tosh reasoned, "or he could be undercover."

"Don't make me laugh," Frank turned back around to face the scene before him. Stewart was talking to the woman now, half-turned to face her, his arm still lightly around her waist, his face lit up and animated. "It's as obvious as the nose on your face."

"What is?" Ted butted into the conversation, pulling a cigarette from his packet. "What's going on?"

"There."

"Where?" he followed Frank's gesture. "No…is it?"

"It is."

"He wouldn't be so brazen, surely?"

"Do you know Stewart Church?" Frank asked, meeting his gaze.

"No, not really…"

"Well then. I do and I don't mind saying that I don't like him. Christina could do a lot better. Look at him," he shook his head, "all over some tart without a care in a world who might see him. What if she had come in here with us? He'd be doing it right in front of her."

"So are half the married men in London," Ted reasoned.

"Oi, present company excluded I hope!" Tosh said indignantly.

"Well, of course. Who else but your Muriel would have you?"

"True that."

"I reckon a quiet word in DS Church's ear is called for, don't you?" Frank stepped forward, only to feel Tosh take hold of him from behind. "Do you mind?"

"I do actually," the other man said, "I do when I think you're about to make a big mistake. What exactly do you expect him to say? Yes, this is my bit of stuff? He's more likely to punch you in the face, or make a complaint, _or_ tell Christina that you're sticking your nose into things that don't concern you."

"If he's up to what I think he's up to, she'll thank me!"

"Will she, will she really?"

Frank paused. In his mind, it was obvious. If the bloke's cheating, tell the wife. Only…well…nobody had told Julie about what _he'd_ been up to the last few years of their marriage. She had been clueless, until he'd gotten to the point of being so miserable that he hadn't bothered to even try to hide it anymore. It had been almost comical; the lipstick on his collar, the smell of perfume on his clothes, the close encounter when she had come home just as he was saying goodbye to someone whose name he would never remember…had she been grateful to find out? It had certainly spurred them on towards their inevitable divorce. But with Christina, well, it wasn't as if she was heading for an inevitable divorce, was it? She loved Stewart, more than he deserved, or so it would appear.

"So what? We just pretend we haven't seen anything?"

"I think that's possibly safest all round Guv, don't you? I reckon Chris has got enough going on at the moment," Tosh clapped him on the shoulder.

"Fine," he replied irritably, though knowing full well that the other man had a point. "I'll be keeping an eye on him though. If he so much as kisses her cheek, I'll be over there."

"Frank Burnside, white knight," Ted chuckled as they sat back down again. "Saviour of wronged wives."

"Not every wronged wife, just one."

"Who's for another drink before it's clocking on time?" Jim asked, pushing his way into the conversation, clearly oblivious to what had gone before. "It's my shout so grab it while you can."

Orders flew over Frank's head from all sides as desperate coppers sought to sink a final glass of pleasure before the afternoon graft started again. He knew he shouldn't, but another vodka and tonic would go down a treat before he had to tackle his paperwork, not to mention he was supposed to be meeting with uniform later that afternoon with regards to liaising with community leaders on the estates, Councillor Hammond's pet project that, unfortunately, had not gone away as he would have liked. All in all, it made for a pretty dull outlook to the rest of the day.

As he looked round, he was conscious of Ted watching him, a knowledgeable yet serious expression on his face. "What?"

The other man shook his head. "Nothing."

XXXX

When she got home that evening, Christina was surprised to find Stewart already there and, what's more, in the process of making dinner. As she closed the front door behind her she could hear the sounds of Radio 4 coming from the kitchen, along with something that smelled very much like chilli. Venturing into the kitchen, she found her husband moving around from sink to table, humming to himself, pots boiling on the cooker.

"What's all this in aid of?" she asked, putting down her handbag and shrugging off her jacket.

"Oh, you're home!" he greeted her with a kiss. "I clocked off a bit early today, so I thought I'd make a start on dinner. It's chilli, so I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. I'm starving actually. I didn't really have time for any lunch." It was a lie, of course. With everything that had happened with Sophie Brennan and receipt of her citation, food had been the last thing on her mind.

"Busy day?"

"Sort of," she washed her hands quickly in the sink and then sat down at the table, realising that she had no impetus whatsoever to discuss it with him. It had been like that of late. Whereas before she would regale him with tales from Sun Hill about her day, no doubt with a healthy dose of moaning about Frank thrown in, lately she kept her thoughts on all scores to herself and, she noticed, he never asked anyway. "What about you?"

"Same old, same old. I spent most of it going over statements for one of our cases. Honestly, you have no idea how bad some people's spelling is."

"I can imagine." She lapsed into silence, watching him move, putting the final touches to the meal before setting it down before her. "Thanks."

"No problem. I figured I was overdue in cooking for you," he replied, sitting down opposite her. "I hope it's edible."

"It's delicious," she said, tasting a forkful. "It's certainly better than some of the creations you've come up with over the years, not that that would be hard."

He laughed, "God, don't remind me. That poky little kitchen we had in our first flat. You could barely boil an egg in there, let alone anything else."

As they laughed and joked and reminisced, she couldn't help but see him as the old Stewart, the one who had been her partner in facing the world together. Two young souls, hellbent on becoming police officers. Perhaps he hadn't changed as much as she sometimes thought he had. Perhaps he was still the same Stewart, just older and wiser and with more responsibility to shoulder. Maybe it wasn't his fault that she sometimes felt a lack of support from him.

Once dinner was over and the dishes had been done, they retired to the living room to watch some television together. For the first time in ages, he put his arm around her shoulder as they sat together on the couch. After a while, his hand began to wander down across her chest as he turned to slide his other hand under her skirt. Lovemaking had been so infrequent of late due to conflicting work schedules and general fatigue, not to mention her own feelings on what had happened with Ryan, but he seemed to genuinely desire her and that thought alone gladdened her soul.

In a flurry of hands and clothes and punctured breath, they made love right there on the couch, firstly with her on her back then astride him. It felt good, familiar and yet tinged with an excitement and a fevered passion that seemed to have been lacking in previous encounters. She ground hard against him, working herself into a frenzy of blissful pleasure, coming hard and fast and crying out with the sheer delight of it all. Once over, they giggled like the teenagers they had once been and skipped up to bed, lying together and talking about old times in a way they hadn't done for longer than she cared to remember. It reminded her of the closeness they had once shared, that which had, sometimes, got a little lost along the road of life, but which, she was happy to report, was still there, buried beneath it all.

"I got my citation for the court case today," she said suddenly.

"Which court case?"

" _My_ court case. The one for the undercover job where I…you know."

"Oh that. When is it?"

"Next month."

"You'll be fine. It's not like you haven't given evidence before. Just pretend you're talking about somebody else."

She looked over at him, his profile barely visible in the dark, "What do you mean?"

"When it comes to the tough bits, just pretend you're talking about somebody else. Pretend it wasn't you that he was on top of. It'll be better that way, less emotional."

"Shouldn't I be emotional? Won't the jury want to see how I've been affected?"

"You were an undercover police officer," he replied. "They won't expect you to be emotional. It's your job."

His words chilled her slightly. "It's my job to be attacked and almost raped?"

"Don't overdramatise it."

"I'm not overdramatising it…am I?" He yawned but didn't reply. "Burnside said…well he said that I should perhaps have got some counselling."

"For what?"

"For what happened?"

"Chris, darling, you weren't raped, were you? What would you need counselling for?" he yawned again. "I'd best get some shut eye. I've got an early start in the morning. I'll try and not wake you when I leave. Tonight was incredible. We need to make the time to do it more often." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and then rolled away from her.

For the longest time, she lay watching him, as his body rose and fall with the easy onset of sleep, a gentle snoring eventually filling the air. Maybe he was right. Maybe she _was_ making more of what had happened than she should. Like he said, she _was_ a police officer after all. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she turned her back on him and closed her eyes.

**2 September**

"Your rape victim's back, sir."

Frank paused, his hand on the door leading into custody and frowned. "What rape victim?"

"The one who came in yesterday," Barry replied. "The one who had her kids with her."

He groaned inwardly, "Well what's she doing back here? We told her there was nothing we could do seeing as the perpetrator was her husband."

"Yeah well, it looks as though he might have found out what she did. She's got a face like she's been ten rounds with Ali."

"Bloody hell…" he shook his head. "You seen Chris Lewis this morning?"

"No sir, not yet. I think you'd better come and speak to Mrs Brennan though, she's in a bit of a state."

"All right, fine." Turning, he followed Barry back along the corridor and into the front office where Sophie Brennan was standing with her back against the wall. Fortunately, this time, she was on her own and it didn't take binoculars to see, even from a distance, that she had taken a beating. "Sophie…"

"Mr Burnside," she looked at him defiantly, but he could tell that underneath she was terrified. "Are you going to tell me that you can't do anything about this either?"

"Look, come in here," he pushed open the door of the front interview room and followed her inside. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened? He found out I'd been here, and he whacked me one!"

Frank looked at her, realising it would be pointless to suggest that her husband had whacked her more than once. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, when he got home."

"And how did he find out you'd been here?"

"How do you think? I told him."

" _You_ told him? Why in God's name would you do that?"

"Why do you think?!" she demanded, her eyes filling with tears. "So he would do something like this! So I could finally report him and _you_ could nick him!" She sat down heavily and put her head in her hands. "I'm so scared. Please, you've got to help me, please!"

"All right, all right," he said. "Look, I'll go and get you a cup of tea, find WDC Lewis and we'll get a statement from you. Where are the kids?"

"With my mother."

"Ok then, well that's one less thing to worry about. Right, sit tight and I'll be back." Opening the door of the room, he stepped back out into the office, motioning to Pete, who was on the front desk. "Get her a cup of tea will you Ramsey? I'll be right back." Without waiting to see the other man's reaction, he stepped through the doors and took the steps to CID two at a time, arriving in the office in time to see Christina hanging up her coat. "Oh good, you've decided to make an appearance."

She frowned and looked at him, "I'm not late."

"No, not yet. Look, don't sit down, do not pass Go and do not collect two hundred pounds."

"Guv?"

"Your Mrs Brennan's back. Apparently, she told her husband that she'd been here yesterday to provoke him into hitting her, which he's done, and now she wants to report him for assault."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like the funny brigade? Come on, we need to get a statement from her." He hovered impatiently as she put her bag away and started rooting around on her desk for a notepad and pen. "Anytime today would be ideal." She flashed him a look of irritation before seizing upon the items in question and following him back out of the room. "She hasn't brought the kids this time, thankfully."

"So, you reckon we can nick him then?"

"If her statement adds up. Poor cow. She's got to be completely desperate to actually tell him about yesterday knowing he would give her a doing." He shook his head. "Some peoples' marriages."

"Yeah, you never really know what goes on behind closed doors do you?" She pushed her hair behind her ear and he immediately caught sight of something on her neck.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"On your neck."

"Where?"

"There," he pointed. "It's not a love bite, is it?" Her face instantly went crimson. "It is, isn't it? You dirty cow."

"If it is, I got it from my husband, actually," she replied, touching her neck self-consciously. "I never noticed this morning. Is it really obvious?"

"Not if you don't keep tossing your hair like a horse. I thought that sort of thing went out in the seventies and certainly didn't continue once you were married."

"You mean you never gave your old lady the occasional love bite?" she smiled.

He looked at her wryly, "No comment."

The interview with Sophie went as expected. She told them that her husband, upon hearing that she had attempted to report him for rape, had beaten her up, that he had done it before and that she wanted something done about it. He had watched as Christina had carefully noted down what she had said, her hand occasionally straying to move her hair out of the way, only to falter as she remembered what she was trying to hide.

A love bite. A love bite from her husband. The same husband who had, only the previous afternoon, been apparently cavorting in plain sight with another woman. Frank couldn't help but wish he had ignored Tosh and had given Church a piece of his mind. It would have been very satisfying for him if, ultimately, unsatisfying for Christina. He wondered if, whatever show of affection had occurred between them later that night, hadn't been as a result of latent guilt. Not that he spent time pondering the sex life of his WDC, of course.

Not at all.

XXXX

"Dickhead."

"Well, don't hold back, will you?"

"Oh, come on Guv," Christina said, "he _is_ a dickhead. He must have known that she would come back and tell us he thumped her, and he went ahead and did it anyway."

"Well, some men are just stupid."

She looked at him, "Present company excluded of course."

"Of course." He leaned back against the wall outside of the interview room. "So, I reckon we go and pick him up."

"You think we've got enough to hold him?"

"Absolutely. We've got her statement, not to mention the injuries. If we can find a WPC, we can have her shipped over to St Hughes to get checked over and some photographs taken. That should be enough to get his bail denied, especially if he's already got form. We better check with Hollis in the collator's office."

"Well, I can do that if you want to go and work your legendary magic on Frazer."

"What _are_ you trying to suggest?" he made a face at her.

"Nothing at all," she smiled back at him before pushing open the door and making her way down the corridor to Reg's domain in the collator's office, the hub of information on all creatures great and small on the manor. Before going in, however, she ducked into the ladies' toilet to have a look at the offending mark on her neck. To her relief, it wasn't as large or noticeable as Frank had made it out to be and, if she kept her hair covering it, nobody else would see it. She couldn't even remember getting it. Stewart had kissed her neck during their lovemaking, of course, but not hard enough to leave a mark, or so she had thought.

"Oh, hello," Reg greeted her when she stepped into the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from CID?"

"I'm looking for any information on one Dennis Brennan. Lives at 16 Fairfield Gardens."

"On the Larkmead?" She nodded. "I know the name." Reg rooted around in one of the drawers. "Brennan…Brennan…ah yes, here he is. Dennis Brennan, date of birth fourth of March nineteen fifty-eight. Yeah, he's got previous for assault."

"Domestic?"

"No, at least not that he's been nicked for before. He was involved in an altercation on the estate two years ago. Got a fine and a suspended sentence."

"So not a habitual offender then?"

"No, well, not so as you'd know."

"Ok, thanks Reg." Stepping back into the corridor, she came face to face with Frank coming, as he clearly had, from Frazer's office. "What did she say?"

"She said she could spare Martella, but only for an hour so she'll need to be quick."

"What did you have to say to persuade her?"

"Never you mind. You get anything?"

"One previous for assault, not domestic though."

"Yeah, and the rest. Right, I'm just going to have a leak and then I'll be with you."

"Guv." She hovered outside the door, her mind wandering as to the content of the conversation he might have had with Inspector Frazer. There were rumours that, at one time, they had been more than just colleagues and acquaintances, much more. But then, Frazer had also had a thing with Ted for a while. She seemed to like her office romances. She remembered what it had been like at Catford when she and Stewart had worked together. Every domestic argument, every bad mood, every irritation had been played out in front of the rest of the team, despite their best efforts to hide it. It was impossible to work dispassionately with someone you loved. At least they had already been married when he had got his promotion, relationships between senior and junior officers at the same stations in the Met being prohibited as they were. That's why Frazer's relationship with Ted had gone down so badly. She remembered it well.

She'd never liked Frazer.

"You fit?" Frank emerged from the toilet. "Or are you in a haze thinking about your close encounter with your husband last night?"

She couldn't help but laugh, "Something like that, Guv, something like that."


	20. Chapter 20

The Larkmead estate was a product of the 80s decline. Once well-kept flats were now reduced to squalor. Unemployment and crime were rife, and no-one appeared to know how to raise it up out of the mire. It was the type of place that needed council investment when there was no investment coming. Gangs of youths roamed its walkways, frightening little old ladies and causing mayhem for the few decent, law-abiding people who lived there. It could be a war zone at times, not a place where you'd want to be after dark.

Christina drove in and around towards Fairfield Gardens where the Brennans' lived. Sophie had assured them that her husband would be at home, out of work as he was and not inclined to try too hard to find an alternative. Number 16 looked as shabby as they come and as she and Frank made their way to the front door, she couldn't help but think about how her own life might have led her to such a place if she hadn't had Stewart and his family to help her out. One more reason to be thankful.

"You can nick him," Frank said, as she knocked on the door. "You need the body."

"Thanks Guv. Just remember to step in if he takes a swing at me."

"I'm sure you can handle yourself."

The door opened suddenly, and a tall, dark-haired man appeared in front of them, his eyes blurry from sleep and booze. She recalled what Sophie had said about her husband being quite a catch and had to admit that, were it not for what she knew about him, she might indeed think him handsome.

"Dennis Brennan?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Police," she pulled out her warrant card. "I'm WDC Lewis, this is DI Burnside."

"CID?" Dennis peered at them. "What do you want?"

"Dennis Brennan, I'm arresting you for assault. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say may be given in evidence." She held up her handcuffs. "Can you turn around please?"

"What is this?" Dennis demanded, folding his arms. "I haven't touched anyone."

"We can talk it all through down at the station." She reached for his arm, only for him to tug it away. "There's no point in making this difficult, sir."

"Don't you talk to me like I'm simple. I want to know what this is about! Who am I meant to have assaulted?"

"Your wife," Frank spoke up.

Dennis's eyes gaze flew between them. "What has she said? What has that bitch said?!"

"Like I said," Christina took hold of his arm again. "We can discuss it all down at the station."

"This is bollocks," Dennis replied, as she secured the steel around his wrists. "I haven't touched her. I haven't laid one finger on her!"

"Yeah? Her face tells a different story," Frank said as they made their way along the walkway and back to the car. "Not very pretty, I'll give you that."

"Why, what's wrong with her face?" he struggled slightly, causing Christina to grip his tighter. "I haven't done nothing to her face!"

"You'd be best remaining silent at the moment, Mr Brennan. Once we get to the station, we can all sit down and get it sorted."

"I'm not having you fit me up! I want a lawyer!"

"You can get one, down the station!" Opening the back door of the car, she pushed him firmly inside before slamming it behind him. "What a nice man," she commented, turning back to Frank.

He raised his eyebrows, "Aren't they all?"

The drive back was undertaken in relative silence. Frank sat in the back with Dennis who stared fixedly out of the window, clearly dissuaded from making further comment about his innocence. When she glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, she couldn't help but think that he looked genuinely concerned about what was happening. As he should.

"What's this then?" Alec asked as they made their way into custody.

"Domestic assault, Sarge," Christina replied.

"I see…" Alec sat down at the desk. "Empty your pockets please sir." Dennis did as asked, a crumpled handkerchief, a betting slip and some coins deposited down. "Can I have your full name please?

"Dennis John Brennan."

"Date of birth?"

"4th March 1958."

"Address?"

"16 Fairfield Gardens, Larkmead Estate."

"Are you the arresting officer?" Alec looked at her.

"Yes Sarge. Mr Brennan's wife made a statement to us that her husband assaulted her last night. She's been seen by a doctor at St Hughes and had her injuries photographed."

Dennis turned to look at her, "You what?"

"Turn around please sir," Alec reminded him.

"This is a joke! I never touched her!"

"I'm satisfied that this arrest is lawful and that you should be detained at this police station for questioning. These are your rights, please read and sign them."

"This is bollocks, I'm telling you, bollocks!" Dennis hurriedly scribbled on the sheet of paper Alec provided him before turning back to look at her. "I bet you swallowed every little thing that bitch told you, didn't you? You slags always stick together! I told you, I want a brief!"

"A lawyer will be provided for you," Alec said, rattling the cell keys. "I'm sure you'll be interviewed as soon as he or she gets here."

"He seems pretty adamant it wasn't him," Frank remarked as Alec led Dennis down the cell corridor.

"Yeah…" Christina mused. "But I suppose he would say that, wouldn't he? I doubt many men would cop to it straight off."

"Suppose not. Come on, let's grab a coffee while we wait for his mouthpiece to arrive." The canteen was fairly quiet, refs having finished shortly before they had arrived back, and she took a table near the window, Frank joining her a few moments later and placing a cup down in front of. "Better than from the machine anyway."

"Wouldn't be hard." She took a sip. "Did you put sugar in this?" He nodded. "Oh, right."

"I thought you took sugar?"

"I do, I just didn't realise that you knew that Guv."

"You think I don't pay attention?"

"Not to that kind of stuff, no."

"Yeah, well…you missed yourself at the pub the other day."

"Really, how come?"

"You know what's it like. Place was packed with the usual crowds." He paused, stirring his coffee slowly. "Your old man was there."

She looked up to meet his gaze, "Stewart?"

"How many husbands do you have?"

"Very funny, just the one." She paused. "I suppose it's not that surprising really. You know what the Drugs Squad boys can be like."

"Oh yeah, hard drinkers' day or night, I know that." It was his turn to pause. "Are there any women on his team?"

She could tell right away that it was a loaded question. The fact that he didn't look at her, and the slightly overly casual way he said the words, made her antenna rise. "No, I don't think so, not that he's mentioned at any rate, why?"

"No reason," he drained half his cup and then met her gaze again. "What?"

"Well, it just seems an odd thing to say."

"Does it?"

"Telling me he was at the pub and then asking if there's any women on his team, yeah it does."

"Well, it wasn't meant to be. I was just making conversation. Anyway, he gave you that love bite, didn't he?"

"Yeah…" her fingers strayed to her neck.

"Well then."

"Well then what?"

"Nothing. Look, I've got a few phone calls I need to make." He got to his feet and drained the rest of his cup. "Give me a shout when Brennan's brief gets here." Before she could say anything further, he left the table, quickly crossed the canteen and disappeared out of the swing doors.

Left alone, she found herself going what he had said. The mention of Stewart in the pub followed by the question about the female members of his team. It was easy enough to put two and two together; he had obviously seen Stewart in the pub with a woman. It was hardly the crime of the century, so why had he felt the need to mention it? Was he trying to suggest that something nefarious was going on? She felt a chill run through her and instinctively lifted her cup to her mouth, flooding it with warm liquid. She had learned by now that Frank never said anything without there being meaning behind it.

XXXX

An hour or so in a cell and Dennis Brennan wasn't looking any better than he had when he been brought in. The smell of booze was almost overwhelming and if Frank hadn't known better, he would have said that Alec had been slipping him alcohol in custody. He was sitting on the other side of the table, rubbing his face in his hands and occasionally belching.

"Taped interview with Dennis John Brennan. Officers present are WDC Lewis and…"

"DI Burnside."

Christina sat down beside him. "Can you state your full name for the tape please?"

"You just said it, why do I have to repeat it?"

"For the tape, please, Mr Brennan."

"Dennis John Brennan, all right?"

"Also present is Mr Brennan's solicitor, Mr Jackson. Now, Dennis, what can you tell us about what happened between you and your wife Sophie last night?"

Frank watched as Dennis rubbed his face again and then sat back in his chair, surveying them both. "Nothing."

"You sure about that?" Christina asked. "Only we have a witness statement from your wife, Sophie, that you assaulted her last night, quite badly in fact."

"Yeah? Well, she's a lying cow, isn't she?"

"Is she?"

"Of course she is! I never laid a hand on her!"

"Ok," Christina sat back, "tell us where you were last night between 6pm and 11pm."

"Why should I?"

"Because we're asking you to," Frank butted in before he could stop himself. "And because your wife says that the beating happened between those times. If you didn't do it, tell us where you were."

"I was in the pub most of the day yesterday," Dennis replied. "I'd been paid so…I had a few drinks with the lads."

"And then?"

"And then…" he paused and spread his hands. "I don't know, I…I was probably in the pub most of the night."

"Probably?" Christina raised her eyebrows. "You mean, you don't remember?"

"I'd had a lot to drink, I don't deny that. I've…I've got, well, a bit of a problem and sometimes, well, sometimes I don't remember things. Like where I've been or what I've done."

"So, you're saying," Frank said, "that you could have been at home assaulting your wife last night and you just don't remember?"

"No, I would remember something like that, of course I would! You wouldn't forget that sort of thing, would you?" He looked between them. "Well, would you?"

"Your wife told us that you assaulted her because she told you that she had been to see us the day before to report you for raping her," Christina said.

Dennis stared at her, his expression one of horror. "Rape?" She nodded. "What are you talking about? I've never raped her in my life! She's my wife!"

"What does that mean to you?" she asked. "The fact that she's your wife? What does that mean to you in terms of possibly raping her?"

"Now, I think we're getting slightly off the point here," Mr Jackson sat forward. "You arrested my client for physically assaulting his wife. Nothing was mentioned about any rape and, in any event, I think we all know the current law."

"What current law?" Dennis asked, only to be shushed by his solicitor. "I never laid a hand on Sophie, I swear it!"

"All right," Frank said, "let's say it wasn't you. Who was it?"

"Well, I don't know, do I?!"

"Oh, come on Mr Brennan, you must know if there's someone out there who wants to have a go at your wife."

"It could have been anyone! She could have been mugged, anything!"

"Well, why would she blame you then?" Christina asked. "Do you have a difficult relationship, in general?"

"No! I mean, we argue, but don't most married folk? You've got a ring on. Don't you argue with your old man?"

Frank glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and saw her take a deep breath before responding. "Yes, but I don't usually end up with a fractured cheekbone and extensive bruising."

Dennis shook his head and sat back. "I'm not saying nothing more about this. I never laid a hand on her and you can't prove otherwise."

"He's right," Frank said as Dennis was led back to his cell. "We've only got her word for it."

"And the injuries," Christina reminded him. "Pretty bad ones at that."

"Yeah, but she's the only one who says it was him," he replied as they made their way back along the corridor. "There are no other witnesses apparently. You heard what she said in her statement, no friends or neighbours who would have heard anything." He shook his head. "We need corroboration, and we haven't got it."

"Did you believe all that flannel about not remembering?"

"Did you?"

"I can't imagine anyone being so drunk as to forget inflicting a beating like that, but then he even said that himself."

"Yeah…" he mused. "Perhaps you should go and have another word with Sophie, see if there's anything else that she can tell us, anything else that she could give us that might help nail the bastard."

"I suppose it's worth a try," she suddenly put her hand on his arm, stopping him mid-stride. "I know what you were trying to say in the canteen earlier."

"What was I trying to say?"

"You were trying to say that you'd seen Stewart with a woman in the pub and you were sounding me out as to whether or not I might think he was having an affair."

Frank paused. "I never said…"

"You didn't have to. But just because a bloke has a drink with a woman in a pub doesn't mean he's having a relationship with her. If I have a drink with you, does that mean there's something going on between _us_?"

"No…"

"He isn't having an affair."

Her expression was firm, bordering on being pissed off but not quite over the threshold at that point and he knew he needed to tread carefully. "I never said that he was. I told you I'd seen him in the pub, a busy pub I should add, and then I asked you if there were any women on his team. I don't how you've put two and two together and come up with seven."

"Don't patronise me."

"I'm not."

"You are! You must think me really stupid or emotional or…something, I don't know. If you thought he was having an affair, why didn't you just come right out and tell me what you saw rather than go round the houses?"

He paused again. "Because, funnily enough, I didn't want to hurt you."

She shook her head. "There was nothing to hurt me _with._ "

"Fine, it was my mistake." He turned back and kept walking, conscious of her following close behind, and wishing he had chosen to say nothing in the first place.

"So, you _did_ think he was having an affair?"

"Christina, he was in the pub with his arm around another woman. What did you expect me to think?"

"You said yourself it was busy."

"So?"

"Do you think he would be that stupid as to be touching up another woman like that in front of lots of witnesses? Surely, if he was having an affair, he would do it in secret, or at least where there was less chance of being seen. Maybe he might sit in a car and ask a female colleague if they want to come inside the house."

Frank stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back to face her, finding that he couldn't read her expression. It was a mixture of anger, upset and, strangely enough, hope. Hope, no doubt, that he would tell her that he had made the whole thing up. And perhaps he might have, or at least put a different spin on it for her, if she hadn't proceeded to throw the funeral back in his face.

"Oh, I see. You want to cast that up to me now after all this time, do you? Want to make me feel bad for something that happened seven months ago? For your information, when I asked you in, I was _not_ trying to get you into bed."

"Then why did you freeze me out afterwards? Why did you make my life so difficult around the nick?"

"You don't know me at all, do you?" he shook his head. "Do you think I _enjoyed_ what happened at Tracy's funeral? Do you think I _liked_ having her parents have a go at me?"

"Of course not."

"So, I got a bit drunk on the back of it and I let my guard down and I made a suggestion that you clearly took _entirely_ the wrong way. And I _knew_ that was how you had taken it and I wanted to disavow you of whatever notion you had got into your head!"

"By treating me like shit when all I had done was tried to support you?"

He turned towards his office. "Why is this all coming up again now? I thought we'd moved past it. I thought you had accepted my apology."

"What apology?"

"Well, I didn't think I needed to come right out and say it. I supported you during the undercover operation. I told you that you could call me anytime." He faced her across his desk. "I came down to the club to try and protect you!"

"And I was supposed to take that as some sort of magical apology for all the grief you had given me for weeks beforehand?"

"Well, you haven't exactly made a big deal out of it, have you? We haven't spoken about the funeral for months. You're only bringing it up now because you're pissed off that I've questioned the integrity of your marriage."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "There's nothing wrong with my marriage."

"No, I suppose there isn't. Nothing a few love bites can't fix at any rate."

"If you were my friend, you would either have forgotten what you saw or told me right away, not stored it up to use against me at some future point."

"How on earth have I stored it up to use it against you? I told you the day after for Christ's sake," he pointed out, "and I am _not_ your friend, I'm your boss."

"Yeah, yeah you are, and maybe it's just better that we keep it that way."

He met her gaze, understanding passing between them that the change in their relationship that had come about since the undercover operation was nothing to be looked upon other than a simple boss-employee arrangement, that he was not her confidante for anything, and that professionalism was necessary at all times.

"I haven't made it any other way at any time," he said. "But given that you've mentioned it, I don't think this assault complaint is really needing an officer of my rank to investigate it. I suggest you take Jim or Tosh with you when you interview Brennan again, all right?"

She paused and let out a long breath. "Fine, Guv, understood."

"Good," he sat down and lifted one of the papers on the desk in front of him, aware of her still hovering. "If there's nothing else…"

"No," she said tightly, heading for the door. "There's isn't."


End file.
